Honesty and Deceit
by Compgirl21
Summary: Vaughn and Chelsea have worked hard to secure a bright future. But it can't last. Problems darker than ever before threaten to tear apart everything they know. Especially that blonde woman who seems to be stalking them and crafting sinister intentions.
1. Preface

_Prologue_

The first thought I had was simple: _It's so dark here. _

Unbelievably dark.

The kind of dark that haunts you in your nightmares.

The feeling of terror was only intensified by my grogginess – it felt like I'd been sleeping for a thousand years, or at least very deeply. My mind tried to go back to my last memories of being awake – they were abruptly cut off, as if I'd gone to sleep very suddenly, or was knocked out.

My eyes scanned the darkness almost reflexively, looking for the one person who always comforted me when I was upset.

"Vaughn?" I whispered softly, expecting him to answer immediately.

I expected to feel his body against mine, or at least a soothing hand. But I did not. It suddenly dawned on me that I was actually in a very uncomfortable position – my spine was bending backwards, and my face was pressed against something scratchy.

My hand was pressed against something above me, and my legs were twisted around some kind of fabric. I rolled onto my back, a muffled cry breaking through my lips when pain jolted through my joints.

Like I'd been in this unnatural position for quite a long time, and my body was telling me about it . . . I realized that I could not straighten out completely – it was as if I was in some sort of suffocating box. I was grateful I wasn't claustrophobic.

Panic instantly clouded my mind, dominated my emotions. How did I get here? Why wasn't I back at the hotel with Vaughn? Where was he? So scared now, my limps jerked out of their own accord, desperately seeking a way out of this box.

I only succeeded in stuffing my face into the scratchy thing again. I let out a muffled scream into it, and a few tears fell from my eyes. I whispered Vaughn's name a few more times, though it was clear to me that he wasn't here.

Desperately now, my mind sought out my last memories of awareness. I'd been in the city, with _her _in that apartment . . . alone. It didn't explain where I was now,_ why _I was here. As I was thinking this, suddenly I was bumped upwards. My brain put two and two together. _I'm in a car, _I realized, _in a trunk. _

And wherever the driver was taking me could quite possibly ruin my life forever.

**A/N: So. This is the sequel to Love and Hate. The introduction is short, but it's intended to be that way. It's different than anything I've tried writing before, but I'd like to give it a shot ;) .**

**My updates might come later than usual for this one; just a guess. Because I'm working on other projects at the same time (See: Upcoming Projects on profile). **


	2. Old Friend

_1: Old Friend _

I wondered if there was purposefully never anything on TV in hotel rooms.

I was lying on the huge bed, flipping aimlessly through different channels and not finding anything worth my time. Warm morning light had filtered into the room – even more so after I'd actually drawn the curtains.

The two small suitcases sat lying open on the floor, because neither of us had bothered to fully unpack. I wasn't used to being so lazy; it felt weird, almost wrong. My body wanted to be up and moving, doing things that weren't possible at the moment.

There weren't any crops to water (something I would do anyway since the last few days of Winter hung around like a black plague), there weren't any animals to tend to, and I didn't have to mine or fish.

I'd eaten too much of the hotel's complimentary breakfast, and my limbs felt like they were made of stone. I yawned hugely and turned the TV off – the stupid thing was much too bright for my sensitive morning eyes anyway.

I heard the water of the shower switch off in the bathroom, so I knew Vaughn would be out here soon. My mind was instantly clouded with overpowering emotions of love and desire as soon as I thought his name.

But I knew we'd have to something today besides being _together_, because we'd barely left this room for three days. Only four more until we headed back to Sunshine Islands and really started our life together.

I'd have to order a bigger bed from Chen, I thought, and possibly expand the house again. We didn't really need the extra room – it was just an added convenience I happened to have the money for.

Of course, we might actually _need_ the space if there was ever another person living with is. Specifically, a tiny, beautiful little person with dark brown hair and wide amethyst eyes. Or, at least, that's how I pictured how our child would look. I wasn't going to bring up the subject for a while, though.

Even I realized that it was best to focus on our work right now – there was still so much to do. It would probably always be that way, no matter what I ever got done. I smiled up at the ceiling. I wouldn't have it any other way.

The phone rang shrilly from the nightstand, and I jumped, still so unaccustomed to such things. It was so easy to believe that Sunshine Islands was the only place in the world that really existed – everything was strange, unreal. Televisions, TVs and computers were odd, unfamiliar devises the Islanders really had no use for . . . I reached out and held the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Chelsea. How are things going?" Julia's cheerful voice greeted me.

I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to ask how she got this number. "Great," I said, "I'm not even mad at you anymore for doing this."

"Good to know, because I'm not the slightest bit remorseful," she snickered.

"How are things at my ranch?" I asked.

"Pretty good – Lola's milk is finally S quality."

"Cool," I said, "I've been hoping it would upgrade."

"So." Julia changed the subject, and something about her tone made a strange sort of suspicion well up in my stomach. "What have you been doing?"

"Oh, just . . . lying around," I evaded.

She laughed. "I'm sure that's not _everything _you're doing . . ."

"You're right," I agreed, "Shall I give you all the details?"

"Uh, no thanks." She was instantly persuaded to drop the subject.

She might have been more inclined to discuss my sex life if my partner wasn't her very beautiful cousin. I could only hope she'd return the favor of avoiding this particular topic when she finally married Elliot. Those were some unnecessary – and potentially scarring – mental pictures.

"I think Elliot might propose soon," Julia said suddenly, her voice low.

"Really? Why?"

"I caught him in Chen's Shop the other day – looking at blue feathers."

The warmth in her voice was touching. But I couldn't stop my next words. "Feathers – don't those break or get wrinkled after a while? Rings are much more practical."

I pursed my lips after I said it, realizing how insensitive it sounded. Perhaps my newfound bluntness was the product of spending so much time with Vaughn.

"I agree," she said, not sounding the slightest bit offended. "It's really an odd tradition. Where in the world did people get the idea that blue feathers should symbolize love?"

I shrugged, though of course she couldn't see. "I don't know."

"But that's not really the point." A bit of irritation was evident in her tone.

"I know," I said quickly, "Of course not. Promise you won't have the wedding before I get back."

She snorted. "I'm not getting my hopes _too_ far up. But let's just say Nathan and Alisa have had fair warning that they may be performing another ceremony soon."

"You deserve it, Julia," I told her for the thousandth time.

Just then, the bathroom door was pulled open, and Vaughn stepped out into the hall in nothing but black jeans. My eyes ogled his chest, his stomach, and his arms.

"Julia, I've got to go," I mumbled.

"Okay," Julia said easily. "Bye."

I think I muttered a "bye" back before hanging up the phone, but I couldn't be sure.

"Who was that?" Vaughn asked, searching through his disorganized suitcase for a suitable shirt.

"Your lovely cousin," I replied. I reached out, grasped his hand, and pulled him towards me. I kissed his lips, slow and passionate, for a long time.

"What should we do today?" He mumbled after a moment.

My hands caressed his upper body. "I think we should go out."

Vaughn groaned. "Why?"

"I'd like to go the mall." The words sounded very out of context while he was kissing me everywhere, but I didn't care.

"Why?" he repeated, his voice whiny like a child's.

"Because I want to," I said.

He sighed, and then pulled back, yanking the first shirt his fingers found from the suit case. I smiled at his unhappy expression.

"We'll come back soon."

* * *

I would have spent more time wondering around _Barnes and Noble_, but the endless irritated glances and impatient sighs started wearing me down after a while. Finally, when I had something suitable and was standing at the counter to pay, I said something about it.

"Why do you hate shopping?"

"Why do you like it?" he countered.

I shrugged. "I don't get to do it very often."

He muttered something unintelligible, but he let me take his hand and pull him out of the store.

"We'll go to a clothing place next," I decided, "And then we'll eat."

"And then we'll leave?"

I sighed. "After that, we can do something you want to do."

He tilted his head, and kissed my ear. "The only thing I want to do involves going back to the hotel."

I smiled and blushed a little. "I see."

We were silent for the rest of our walk, passing by other people and numerous other shops. But just as we rounded a corner, Vaughn stopped and stared. I followed his gaze and found myself looking at a small shop with a bright purple neon sign.

_Claire's. _

It specialized in jewelry, wallets, kinky clothing and accessories. Overall, it looked like a place where teenage girls would flock. Predictably, two such persons were visible standing by the sunglasses' rack, trying on ridiculously large pairs and snickering at each other.

It definitely wasn't a place I'd go in willingly. A sharp pain pierced my heart when I recognized the way Vaughn was staring at this particular store. It was a look I'd seen more often than I would have preferred; it was far-off, hurt and isolated.

When he looked like this, I could tell he was remembering something painful. And, really, the only memories that caused him so much grief centered around one person.

"Vaughn?" I asked quietly.

Though I'd dealt with this sort of thing before, I was always at loss as to how to approach it. He tore his eyes away from the store long enough to glance down at me.

His tone was curiously dead. "What?"

My eyes narrowed. He knew very well _what. _He sighed, and then gazed at the store again. Hurt immediately welled up inside me, but I pushed it away, knowing it was irrational. Even after all this time, even though I was married and going to spend my life with him, I sometimes saw flashes of the side of him that was cold, injured and just plain _mean. _Knowing the reasons behind these emotions didn't always ease the hurt.

"That was one of Marissa's favorite stores," he sighed quietly after a minute.

"Oh."

I pulled him in the other direction – he didn't resist. He just continued to stare lifelessly at nothing. I swallowed against the lump in my throat and headed towards the exit – I wasn't in the mood for clothes shopping anymore.

* * *

Even though I'd abandoned my search for outfits, my growling stomach reminded me that I still had to eat. I didn't say anything to him as we walked down the sidewalk, not bothering to hail a cab. I knew better than to try and speak to him in this stare – it would only lead to hurtful comments and piercing glares.

When emotion and life began to touch his eyes again, I found my voice.

"Let's find a Café or something for lunch."

"Alright," he agreed, sounding too apathetic for my liking.

We ended up finding a small Café on the corner of a particularly busy street – though the building was small, it was buzzing with activity. The line wasn't long, though. I ordered a delicious-looking vanilla latte and a big, chocolate cookie.

Vaughn ordered milk and some sort of odd-looking Danish. We settled into a green bench next to the window and began eating in silence. I stared at the letters painted on the glass, backwards from where I was sitting.

But after several long minutes of agonizing silence I couldn't put the question off any longer.

"Are you alright?"

His eyes flickered up to mine, and he managed a small – not completely genuine – smile. "Yes."

I wanted to push the subject – he needed to know that he couldn't just freeze up like this whenever he saw something that reminded him of his sister. It just wasn't . . . normal. But I wasn't in the mood to start up an argument.

That conversation would just have to wait. I took his hand on the table, kissing each of his fingers individually.

"I love you."

"Yeah, I know. I wonder why." He sounded genuinely interested.

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. You're really a jerk."

He shrugged, too. "That's a given."

I smiled, pressing his hand to my cheek. When I opened my eyes, he was staring at me, unmistakable love in his expression. Feeling better, I ate the cookie, rubbing circles on his hand with my thumb. The little bells above the Café door jiggled, indicating the arrival of another customer. I glanced up automatically.

A single dark-haired woman walked over to the counter, and stared up at the little menu thoughtfully. I yawned and looked away, bored. Vaughn still seemed a little distant, but his expression was more peaceful that before. I sipped the latte and contemplated other places we could go it; I hadn't been to a movie in forever . . .

The little hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I shuddered, instantly assaulted by memories of being alone with the thin man in that dark alley outside of Vaughn's apartment. I would forever hate the feeling of being watched.

I turned in my seat a little and met a pair of wide hazel eyes, set into the face of the dark-haired woman I'd seen come in a minute ago. She was still standing at the counter, but she wasn't studying the menu anymore, and she wasn't looking at me.

She was examining Vaughn with the strangest expression. She wasn't staring in a way that would make me angry or possessive; her eyes were intense, and strangely skeptical, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

I stared at her until she finally met my eyes. I raised one eyebrow questioningly; she instantly looked away like I'd stung her.

"Vaughn, do you know that woman by the counter?" I asked him quietly, though she probably wouldn't hear anyway over the buzz of voices that filled the Café.

He glanced up, looking bored. "No. Why?"

"She was staring at you for a while," I murmured.

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. "People do that with me."

I rolled my eyes. "It was different. Like she was surprised to see you or something . . ."

He opened his mouth to answer, probably with a remark much the same as last time, but I held up a hand to stop him.

The dark-haired woman received her coffee from the man behind the counter, and then moved to a table close to ours. I watched her inconspicuously from the corner of my eye. Vaughn felt no need to be discreet; he stared openly, his eyes more than a little unfriendly.

The woman glanced up and – when she saw that we both were staring at her – she looked hurriedly away again. She stared out the window, but I could tell her thoughts didn't center on afternoon traffic. Vaughn continued to stare, his brow furrowed slightly, like he was working out a difficult math equation in his head.

"Come to think of it," he muttered, almost to himself, "She looks a little familiar."

"Do you want to go talk to her?" I wondered.

He shook his head. "No. I'd remember if she was someone important."

I shrugged. "Okay."

Another ten minutes passed. Just as we were standing up the leave, the dark-haired woman glanced at us again, scared that we were leaving so soon. I frowned.

"I want to see what her problem is," I grumbled, crushing the latte cup in my hand and tossing it into a nearby garbage.

Vaughn followed me to the woman's table.

"Do we know you or something?"I asked, too irritated to attempt to be polite. Flustered, the woman shrugged and looked away.

"Maybe," she mumbled after a moment.

Vaughn remained silent, but he wore that same calculating expression. The woman stood so she was eye-level with me, abandoning her coffee on the table. I waited expectantly. When she didn't continue, I prompted her.

"Well?"

She sighed, and gazed over my shoulder at my husband.

"Is your name Vaughn?" she asked. Her voice was stronger than before.

Vaughn stared at her for a minute, obviously not caring for this woman's awareness.

"Yeah," he finally admitted after a tense moment.

She smiled a little, pleased with this assent. "You probably don't remember me, right? I'm Claire Michaels."

Vaughn seemed a little confused for a moment, but then recognition lit up his eyes. "Yes, a little."

I frowned at the woman named Claire, frustrated by my lack of knowledge. "Who are you?"

Claire blushed, obviously uncomfortable with my unfriendly glower. "I knew Vaughn a little bit when I was younger. I was his sister's best friend."

My heart skipped a beat or two at this, and worry knotted in my stomach. How would thi s affect him?

"Really?" I managed to say, unable to hide the concern from my tone. "How did you know Vaughn, then?"

"I was over at his house a lot," Claire said, "The white one the corner of Fisbury road? Marissa and I liked to hang out in the back yard; there was a really cool tree house." Her words were bordering on babble.

But then her voice dropped, and she stared at the floor. "Well, that was before she . . ."

"Died?" Vaughn said flatly.

"Yeah," Claire agreed sadly.

A long silence passed, and a hopeful gleam suddenly came into her eyes. "I never did find out happened to her."

Vaughn was rigid at my side; I could almost hear his teeth grinding. "That's private." His voice was so cold, so utterly flat and emotionless, I flinched a little.

Claire shrugged. "I know it is."

She smiled a little at him, despite his hostility. "Marissa talked about you a lot, you know. For the first few years that I knew her, she was always saying how wonderful her brother was. But towards the last few months . . ."

I squeezed Vaughn's hand, wishing more than anything that this woman would go away and never come back. I hated seeing his grief. And I'd seen it far too often.

"We should probably go," I said curtly, stepping towards the door.

But Vaughn didn't move. I begged him silently to come with me, but he was staring at Claire, unconcealed curiosity in his expression.

"No," he muttered quietly, "I don't want to go yet, Chelsea."

Another long silence passed, this one much more uncomfortable. Claire fidgeted uncomfortably under his calculating gaze.

Finally, she said, "We have some things to talk about, don't we? I mean, there's some things I'd like to . . ."

I could finish her unspoken sentence. _I want to know. _Unexpectedly, I was filled with an overwhelming amount of pity for this stranger. I tried to imagine being someone's best friend for most of my life – an image of Julia flashed in my mind – and then to have their life unexpectedly cut short.

And then, worst of all, never knowing exactly what happened to her . . . I shuddered. There were probably dozens of rumors flitting around about Marissa's death, but how could Clare ever know for sure?

If something – heaven forbid – ever happened to Julia, I would want to know. It was for this reason I didn't insist on leaving the Café at that moment.

Claire took a deep breath. "Do you live here in the city? Maybe we could have lunch sometime."

Vaughn pursed his lips. "Alright."

My eyes narrowed. I didn't care for the way she only spoke to him, like I wasn't even here.

Vaughn must have noticed my glower, because he leaned over and kissed my temple. "Chelsea would be there, as well."

Claire's eyes flickered to me for a second; or more specifically, the ring on my left hand. I wagged my fingers a little in case she didn't get it.

She blushed a little and nodded. "Yes, of course."

"We don't live in the city," I said, as if my voice would make my presence clearer. "We're on our honeymoon. And we're going home soon."

"Oh. Well. Tomorrow, then?" she asked. She pulled a piece of paper from her purse and wrote something with a black pen.

She handed it to me. "That's my address. Is one o' clock okay?"

"It'll be fine," Vaughn answered before I could.

I sighed, stuffing the paper into my pocket. I didn't really understand why he wanted to speak to her anyway.

"Goodbye, then." Claire sat back down and held her coffee cup, her eyes suddenly far away.

Vaughn and I hurried out of the Café.

* * *

I waited until we were back in the hotel before I said anything. Vaughn lay down on the bed, staring up the ceiling and sighing heavily. I curled up next to him, my arm slung over his chest and my head on his shoulder. I said the first words that came to mind.

"You never told me that your old house was on Finsbury Street."

He smirked, like this trivial detail was amusing to him. "No. Why does it matter?"

"Will lives on that street, too," I said, "You were neighbors with him growing up, and you didn't even know it."

Vaughn snorted. "Great."

"Those houses are really nice," I said quietly, "You guys must have been rich." By the way he grimaced, I knew I'd said something wrong.

"Yes," he said bitterly, "We were. Something I took full-fledged advantage of."

"Vaughn . . ." My tone was disapproving.

But then I sighed, realizing it was probably better to avoid the subject. Especially when there were so much more pressing matters at hand.

"Why did you agree meet that woman for lunch tomorrow? Why do you want to talk to her?"

He sighed, too, and closed his eyes. "Chelsea, Marissa and I didn't . . . get along during the last few months of her life. I think she resented me for not helping her more, even though I tried to protect her as best I could. During those months, it was . . . like I didn't even know her anymore. Like she was a different person. I want to know exactly who that person was."

Tears welled in my eyes. "Vaughn, this can't end well. And you know she's going to be prying for information."

His smirk was suddenly more pronounced. "It's nothing I haven't dealt with before."

I made a face at him.

His thumbs wiped under my eyes, and he kissed my forehead. "I don't know, Chelsea . . . Think of it as closure. I have to do this. For myself. For Marissa."

"I'm surprised you didn't recognize Claire in the Café," I murmured, and his hands started to caress me.

"I wasn't that involved in Marissa's social life," he murmured.

"Oh," I said, beginning to lose my ability to think rationally. I wrapped a leg around his hip and kissed his mouth. I wanted to forget all the pain, all the talk of loss and sadness that was sure to come. If only for a while. But no matter how much I tried, I couldn't escape the nagging little voice in back of my mind. I didn't like what it was saying, but I had to listen all the same.

We'd probably stay in this city longer than we planned.

**A/N: I'm fully aware that Claire is the name of some other character in a different HM game. It's not the same one, I assue you. I just happened to like the name ;) **


	3. Acquaintance

_2. Acquaintance_

I didn't try to convince Vaughn not to meet up with Claire for lunch the next morning.

I had listened to him last night when he said this was something he had to do. I didn't really want to go, but I thought it would be even worse if I _didn't _go; I recalled with the upmost clarity the way she had glanced at my wedding ring.

"What time were we supposed to be there?" I called from the bathroom, running a brush through my way.

"Around one," he called back.

I walked into the main room and flopped down next to him on the bed, where he was flipping aimlessly through channels, and having the same rotten luck as I had yesterday.

"Nothing on?" I asked softly.

"Never is," he grumbled, switching off the TV and rolling onto his back.

I closed my eyes and sighed. "I don't want to go."

"I know," he whispered.

A long silence passed. When I finally opened my eyes to glance at his expression, his eyes were very far away.

"We won't stay long," he promised.

I drug myself over so I was staring directly down at him, and kissed his lips.

"I love you," I sighed softly, my fingers slipping under his shirt.

He smiled a little, and repeated, "I know."

* * *

"Is this the place?" I asked, when Vaughn and I stood outside the door of a little apartment building.

The office was very far away – I wondered how big this complex was. Vaughn glanced down at the piece of papers.

"Yeah, door number 502." He stuffed it back in his pocket and reached out to ring the bell.

I could hear the sound of the loud chime ringing through the apartment. For a moment, there was nothing, and I was half-tempted to suggest we leave. But then the door opened, and Claire stood staring at us with the same nervous eyes as the day before.

Her hair was pinned up, a few strands hanging around her face, and the mascara on her eyelashes made it seem like her eyes were larger than they really were. It appeared as though she was putting more stock into her appearance today than the day before. I made a face, wondering – and ignoring – the reason for it.

"Come in," Claire said quietly, gesturing with a manicured hand.

I might have been a little too huffy when I stormed into her living room, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Vaughn sat down next to me on the couch, his eyes both sympathetic and pleading. I sighed and looked away, examining Claire's mantelpiece knickknacks.

The long tan sofa I currently say on was an earthy brown color, and there was a huge portrait of the sun hanging next to a pretty glass figurine.

"Would either of you care for something to drink?" Claire's voice called from – presumably – the kitchen.

"Tea would be nice," I called back.

I fidgeted uncomfortably with whatever my restless fingers could find – I wanted out of here, and I wanted to be out now. I'd heard too many dark, depressing stories about the past. No good could come of this . . . but I had to be here.

For Vaughn.

Claire came into the living room with a tray and glasses of iced tea.

"Marissa used to love these," she murmured as she sat down.

Vaughn nodded, and stared out the window, as if that would make this conversation easier. A long silence passed as we waited for him to speak. When he did, his voice held that bleak, isolated tone I despised so badly.

"She really hated me for a while."

Claire cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable with being the bearer of bad news. "Well . . . hate is a strong word. She . . . wasn't fond of you, I suppose."

He snorted. "That's putting it mildly."

"The funny thing was, she would never tell me why. She was actually rather secretive the last few months of her life." Claire's voice broke on the last word.

Vaughn sighed, but didn't reply for a while.

"What did she like?" he asked after a minute. "What were her favorite things? What did she hate?"

Claire shifted a little uncomfortably.

"You were her brother," she said, "Wouldn't you know those things already?"

"I did. For a while." His eyes flickered back to our host. "But it was different in the last few months. I barely knew her."

"Oh. Well." Claire cleared her throat.

"She loved going out. She adored pop music, chocolate ice cream, and a boy at school named David. She hated Melinda Matthews, algebra, mushrooms and old candy."

She smiled a little. "Most of my memories of Marissa are good ones. She was a lovely person. My very best friend." She sighed, but she did not cry.

All the same, she still looked uncomfortable, and I wondered why.

"Please," she said softly after a moment. "Please tell me . . . what happened to her. I can't stand not knowing."

"That's not your business." Vaughn's voice was cold.

Claire blinked at him, as if unable to process what he was saying for a moment. But the she sighed and looked away, stung.

"I understand," she said, but her voice was disappointed.

"She always was complaining about her step-father. Jack." Claire made a face. "Never one good thing about him came out of her mouth, not even about his money."

"Good." Vaughn smiled, his eyes dark and malicious.

I shuddered and clutched his hand.

"Did he have something to do with her death?" Claire prodded.

Vaughn didn't even bother answering; he only glared.

Claire leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

"She loved you, though, I think," she said quietly, as if her outburst had never happened. "No matter how much she insulted you. I could see it in her eyes."

Vaughn took a deep breath. "I think she did, too."

Claire chugged the rest of her tea and excused herself for a moment; I knew it had something to do with the tears brimming in her eyes.

"Maybe you should just tell her," I muttered quietly. I couldn't ignore the pity in my heart for much longer.

"Why?" Vaughn frowned. "She doesn't need to know."

"Vaughn . . ." I sighed. "If something terrible happened to my best friend – Julia – I'd want to know, too."

He leaned his head back on the couch; his fingers dug into the couch.

"No."

I shook my head in frustration, because I knew that tone. It was stubborn and immovable, no matter what I said. At least for now. Claire walked back into the room, and sat down; her fingers trembled.

"I miss her," she said quietly.

I could tell she was on the verge of losing it altogether. I swallowed against the thick lump in my throat and stood up without really thinking about it.

"I think we should go."

Vaughn nodded, and stood.

"No!" Claire's hands came up, and hung in the air for a moment. Then she seemed to realize how ineffectual the gesture was, because they dropped back into her lap and she stared at us with heartbroken eyes.

"I – how long are you staying in the city?" She mumbled.

"Three days," I replied.

"Would you come back the day after tomorrow? Please."

Vaughn opened his mouth – to object, I could see – but I spoke before he could. My voice was full of sympathy.

"Yes, alright."

Vaughn blinked at me disbelievingly, but he didn't comment.

Claire sighed, relieved. "Thanks."

* * *

"I'm not going back." Vaughn shook his head.

I sighed, staring out the hotel window. "I think we should."

"Chelsea, it's not" –

"Just one more time, Vaughn. That's all," I promised, my voice somewhat broken.

He sighed, and his arms wrapped around me. "I don't like it."

"I know." My eyes closed, and I took a deep breath. He didn't speak again, so I felt like I could safely assume he'd agreed to go.

* * *

I went into the city alone the next day. Vaughn claimed he had a headache, but I'd bet money he just wanted to stay home and think.

Or, more specifically, think things that would lead to pain on both our parts. But I felt like I needed to get away from it, if only for a while. I told myself things would go back to normal once we went home.

And I wanted to go back so dearly. I just felt like it was wrong to leave Claire with no information whatsoever. Some way, I would convince Vaughn to tell her. And if I couldn't, then maybe I would tell her myself . . .

The good thing about going into the city alone was that I could browse in stores as long as I wanted. I spent the majority of my time in the mall, at numerous different clothing stores (Julia would love this top), a couple cooking stores (Pierre would scoff at their limited equipment), and a large book store (Sabrina would love this section).

I had to pass _Claire's,_ the jewelry store that had started my small chain of misfortune two days ago. But as I passed, I noticed a dark-haired girl standing behind the counter, with light green eyes and a huge smile.

For a moment, I imagined that Marissa was still alive, working there now, happy and helpful as ever. I pictured Vaughn walking into the store, hugging his sister, and smiling as widely as she. But of course this was just a pretty picture of something better.

Sadness welled up inside me, twisting my heart and blocking my throat. My vision was a little blurry with unshed tears. No matter what images I conjured up in my mind, I would always have to come back to heart-wrenching reality.

Marissa was dead.

* * *

In the back of some department store, I wrinkled my nose at the price for a light green jacket. Sighing, I put it back on the rack and turned to the rest of the selection. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of movement.

My head turned automatically; I'd thought I was alone, in this remote section. My eyes locked with a pair of eyes almost exactly the same color as mine; hard, ice blue. The woman was a few inches taller than me, and quite a bit older, too.

Ten, maybe even fifteen years older. But she was she was still pretty, and quite fashionable; my mother would approve of her expensive taste in clothes. Her hair was sleek and blonde, but short; the ends of her dangly earrings met the ends of her hair.

I was almost positive I'd never met this woman before, but she was staring at me in a way that wasn't dissimilar to the way Claire had studied Vaughn and I in the Café earlier. She didn't look away when I met her gaze; she stared with cryptic eyes, studying me as if I were a frog she planned to dissect later.

I shuddered and looked away, though my curiosity was piqued. Why did she stare that way? I glanced up inconspicuously, pretending to examine a pair of boots I didn't have a prayer of purchasing.

When she again didn't look away, I decided it was time to investigate. Along with my curiosity came irritation, after all.

"Do I know you?" I asked, keeping my voice polite.

The blonde woman was suddenly smiling at me, all happy and cheerful.

"I don't think so," She replied smoothly, her voice high and quick. "I was just admiring that lovely piece of jewelry."

The woman approached and stared at the ring on my left hand.

"Oh," I said. I told myself to be relieved, even though her eyes had _not _been trained on the ring at all. I held up my hand, and her thumb ran along the pretty stones. I noticed that her fingers were long, and perfectly manicured, her fake red nails glinting slightly in the bright lights of the store.

"You're very lucky to have it." She laughed quietly, "It's very beautiful."

I nodded. "I think so, too. My husband was very selective."

Her smile tightened a little, as if she was having difficulty keeping it in place.

"Yes, I'm sure he was," she agreed, her tone clipped.

She held out her hand. I shook it, biting the inside of my cheek.

"I'm Megan," she said pleasantly.

"Chelsea." I smiled.

"Where are you headed after this?" she wondered.

I shrugged. "Probably going to get something to eat."

"Oh, wonderful. Would you allow me to accompany you?"

I was probably only imagining the knot of nervousness in my stomach. I was probably only making up the way she'd stared, the way her eyes had sparked with something akin to anger when I mentioned Vaughn.

"Alright," I agreed.

Megan clapped her hands together and grinned. "Marvelous. Do you live here in the city?"

Her eyes wondered away after she asked the question, as if she wasn't particularly keen on my reply.

"No," I said, "I don't."

"Oh. Well." Megan shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Yeah," I said, "It's too expensive here anyway."

She nodded, as if she agreed with me. We walked out of the store together.

"So, how long are you staying here?" Megan wondered casually.

I couldn't help but notice that the level of interest in her tone was higher than when she asked me where I lived.

"Three more days," I said. _Hopefully. _

"Hmm." Megan frowned, and looked away.

"Do live here, too?" I asked, thinking it was rude to not ask her any questions.

She grimaced. "Yes, I do." She didn't offer anymore information.

"Huh," I said.

"Why are you here?" She wondered.

"Honeymoon." I smiled.

Megan's eyes narrowed slightly. "I see."

My lips pursed into a hard line. That was the second time she tensed up when I spoke of Vaughn. Part of me told me it was probably best to leave right now. The other part held pure curiosity. As usual, the latter won.

We walked down the street for quite some time. And then we approached a corner of a particularity busy street; cars – still a strange sight to me in general – zipped by hurriedly. I was about to attempt to speak to this odd woman again – my mouth opened, ready to form words – when I suddenly ran into something.

I stumbled, trying to regain my balance. My hands flailed around, looking for something to catch, but Megan was standing too far away, a concerned look in her icy eyes. With nothing to catch onto, I began falling forward – right into the busy street.

Dozens of images flashed through my head almost simultaneously, certain that upon reaching the asphalt of the street, I would either be run over or cause a terrible car accident. My hands broke my fall, and breath whooshed out my lungs.

For a second, I merely sat there, tense, waiting to be squashed. But death never came. When I finally opened my eyes, it took a minute for my panicked brain to realize that the light had turned red and the cars had stopped, just seconds before my fall.

As I glanced up, I saw the face of the driver in the car closest to me – his brow was raised questioningly, as if I was the biggest idiot on the face of the planet. But I didn't care for the moment what some stranger thought – I was happy to be alive.

"Chelsea! Chelsea, are you alright?" Megan rushed up to me suddenly, offering her assistance.

Hesitantly, I took it, and got to my feet.

"Oh, Chelsea, that was terrible. I thought you would be killed!" Her voice was concerned, a little too concerned for someone she had met merely a half hour ago.

But it appeared to be genuine, so I took a deep breath, attempting to slow the rate of my heart. The questioning driver honked his horn, and Megan and I crossed the street.

Upon reaching the door of a quaint little Diner – similar to the one on Sunshine Island – Megan asked gently, "Are you alright?"

I stared down at the scratches on my palms.

"Yes," I replied quietly.

We went inside, and Megan began talking about the menu. I said 'yes' and 'no' when necessary, but my mind wasn't really on the conversation. I was thinking of what had happened moments ago. I remembered approaching the corner, walking at a steady, even pace. There had been nothing around me at the time, no garbage cans or signs, no benches or large rocks. So, the whole time we ordered, the whole time we ate and discussed, I was haunted by a simple question.

_What did I trip over? _

**A/N: I think the chapters in this story will be shorter than L&H's. I posted my other story, Before and After, by the way. There's a more detailed summary for this story on my profile. **

**Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own Harvest Moon. **


	4. Poison

_3. Poison_

The rest of lunch with Megan went fairly well, when I stopped ignoring the nagging suspicions in my head.

I must have tripped over something I hadn't seen. After all, I'd been more focused on what I'd been about to say, not where I was going. Megan, I found, was charming and likeable. Though she was sometimes a bit vain and shallow, it seemed like she meant well and genuinely wanted to get to know me.

But occasionally, she would say or do something that would make my skin crawl again.

"The city can be such a difficult place to meet people." She smiled at me, a glinting, mischievous look in her eyes. "You never know what kinds of characters might me lurking about."

I shuddered, thinking of the thin man in the ally. "I know."

Megan chuckled, turning her eyes from my face. "You sound like you have experience with such an encounter."

I shrugged. "It turned out alright. Vaughn saved me."

Megan frowned for just a fraction of a second before covering it with a grin. "I'm sure. He was always . . . strong."

My eyebrows rose. Not once during this entire conversation, aside from just now, had I mentioned my husband's name. And the ways she spoke of him . . . it was like she knew who he was.

"Do you know Vaughn?" I inquired.

She clenched her jaw for a minute. "No," she said, "I merely meant to assume that he was strong. Your husband, correct?"

I nodded slowly. "How did you know?"

She laughed, though it might have been a little forced. "I saw the ring, remember? And, again, I assumed, judging by your . . . _affectionate _tone."

A small part of my mind was whispering to me again, that tiny little voice I never seemed to listen to because its words always seemed irrelevant.

_Those didn't sound like assumptions. They sounded like known facts._

"Oh," I murmured quietly.

"I ought to be going," Megan said, glancing at her bejeweled watch. "I'm late for a meeting."

"It was nice to meet you," I said politely.

She took a pad of paper from her purse and scribbled something on it. She ripped the page out and handed it to me.

"My number," she said quietly. "Perhaps we can all get together before you leave."

"Are you married?" I wondered, as I wrote down the number of our hotel.

Again, for just a moment, her expression changed. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she pursed her lips, almost in anger. But then it was gone, and she was calm again.

"No," she said softly, "I'm not."

Without another word, she took the paper from me, and turned, giving me a small wave before the door of the Diner fell shut behind her.

* * *

"Remind me again why we're going back this afternoon." Vaughn stared grumpily out the window.

"Because it's the right thing to do," I answered, attempting to organize my suitcase.

"I'm not telling her what happened."

_But I am. _"I know."

He frowned, shook his head, and grumbled lowly. I let him calm down for a moment before speaking again. Otherwise, this conversation would turn into an argument.

"I forgot to tell you," I said quietly, stuffing a toothbrush into a too-small pocket, "I met someone yesterday."

He turned away from the window, took my hand, and pulled me away from the suitcase. His head bent, and he kissed me.

"But we've been married for such a short time," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, shut up."

"Gladly." His mouth was on my neck then, and his hand was slipping under my shirt.

I pushed his hand away, reluctantly. "Vaughn, I'm trying to tell you something."

He kissed my nose, running his hands over my sides. "Later."

I stepped away, crossing my arms and pretending to glare, though my body was tingling.

He sighed. "What is it that's so important, Chelsea?"

"I made a friend in a department store yesterday. Megan."

I was still having mixed feelings over her. I remembered her cryptic comments, her dark expressions, the tiny tidbits of information she seemed to know . . . But now, a day later, it was so easy to imagine that it had been nothing, that I was merely exaggerating. That the city was making me lose my mind.

Very possible.

"She wants to get together with us before we leave," I said.

Vaughn groaned. "_More_ people to go see. Wasn't this vacation supposed to be about _us?_"

"Yes," I laughed, "Maybe we should extend our stay?"

He snorted, possibly disgusted by the very idea. "No, thanks."

"Well then." I wrapped my arms around him, kissing him deeply, wanting his hands on me.

"Let's make the most of our alone time."

* * *

Claire smiled at us warmly, gesturing for us to come in, exactly the same way as yesterday. "Come in – I made cookies."

I smiled, and sat down on the same couch as before. We ate in silence for a little while, and the whole time, my mind was buzzing with ideas. Someway, somehow, I had to be alone with Claire for a few minutes.

If I wanted to tell her the truth, it would take all the time and possibly more. I did feel guilty for tricking Vaughn – it seemed like a horrible way to begin a marriage. But I knew it was the right thing to do, whether he saw it or not.

Besides, the sooner it was done, the sooner we could leave. I genuinely liked Claire as a person – ignoring the way she sometimes looked at Vaughn – but every time I looked into her eyes, I saw myself in her situation.

I pictured Julia, lying dead somewhere, callously murdered by someone who's temper got too far out of hand. I imagined never seeing her again, and always in the dark of what became of my very best friend . . . I shuddered and looked out the window. Yes, it was best to get this done and over with. But how to buy time?

Claire got up, took our plates, and went into the kitchen.

"I think I'll ask if she needs help," I muttered to Vaughn.

I could only hope he bought my pathetic excuse of an explanation. The kitchen was just as quaint and expertly decorated as the living room, and very clean. This only increased my opinion of Marissa, judging by her association.

And the small, torn piece of my heart ached even more acutely for the person I'd never had the privilege of meeting.

"Claire?" I asked, hoping she would notice the softness of my voice.

She did. When she replied, her tone was just as low. "Yes . . . Chelsea?"

I figured I should start with something simple. "I'm really sorry about Marissa."

A few tears leaked from her eyes unexpectedly. She wiped them away, blushing. "I'm sorry – you must think I'm a big baby with all of this. It's just I . . . never really let myself cry before."

I nodded sympathetically. "I don't think badly of you, Claire. I . . . I want to help you."

She sniffed, and wrung her hands nervously. "Chelsea . . . you know, don't you? You know what happened to her."

It was a statement, not a question. I hesitated, analyzing yet again if I really wanted to do this. Finally, I nodded, slowly.

"Yes, I do. And I think you have a right to know."

She breathed a small sigh of relief. "It's nice to have someone agree."

"He means well," I said, "Vaughn's just . . . careful."

Claire nodded. "So I noticed."

She was leaning close to me now, her voice so low I actually had to strain my ears to hear.

"Please tell me."

My mouth opened. I wasn't entirely sure exactly what I was going to say – I needed to give her the short version. But I never got the chance.

"What are you talking about?" Vaughn's voice was hard and suspicious.

I stiffened for a moment. I had to remind myself that I hadn't gotten caught – he didn't know what I'd been about to reveal. I hoped guilt wasn't noticeable in my tone when I answered. I was going for nonchalant.

"Nothing much," I said, tuning to face him. "Just the cookie recipe. They really were delicious, by the way."

I smiled at Claire, begging her with my eyes to go along with my story.

She nodded. "Yes, it's an old family recipe."

"Why so quiet?" He still made no attempt to hide his distrust. I wouldn't expect him to.

As I was searching my mind for the right lie, Claire came to my rescue.

"My throat's a little scratchy today," she explained, "It hurts to speak too loudly."

I nodded, praying he wouldn't press further. Because her story gave no reason for why _I _was talking softly. Vaughn's eyes examined Claire for a few moments. When he looked at me, his lips were pursed unhappily.

"Let's go back to the living room," he suggested, turning and storming away.

I sighed, and Claire frowned. "Chelsea, you have to tell me before you leave. Please."

I nodded. "I will."

We went back into the living room. Vaughn was rigid and tense by my side, and his voice was flat and icy whenever he spoke. He never gave us the chance to leave or be alone. He asked Claire a few more questions concerning Marissa – she answered them as professionally as she could.

"I could tell she was hiding something from me," she breathed quietly after a while. "Towards the end of her life. I saw some . . . marks . . ."

Her wide hazel eyes flickered to me, hoping for answers.

Very inconspicuously, I shook my head slightly.

Vaughn's jaw clenched, and he suddenly stood. "We're going now."

I sighed, and got up. Claire would just have to wait. When Vaughn stalked out the door, though, we had a few precious seconds.

"Chelsea," Claire pleaded, "I have to go out of town for four or five days tomorrow, for work. I know you're leaving for the city, and it's a lot to ask, but . . . would you wait? I could give you money. I know you're staying at a hotel."

I shook my head. "I don't want your money."

"Please," she said again.

I sighed again, hesitating.

"I'll try," I promised, "To . . . get him to stay. If we're still here, we'll come by." I hastily yanked a pen from a nearby cup and scrawled the hotel number on her palm.

"Give us a call."

She nodded, taking the pen and writing her number on my hand in return. "If you don't stay . . . please tell me in advance."

I nodded, tossing the pen in some random direction, waving a little, and then hurrying to catch up with Vaughn.

* * *

"I hate it when you lie to me." Vaughn frowned, leaning his forehead against one of the white walls of our room.

"I don't know what you mean." I called upon all my years of teenage deceit to keep an unfathomable expression. Though the guilt was strong, it could be ignored.

"You weren't talking about any damned recipe."

"I was," I argued.

"And her throat was just fine."

"It wasn't." I frowned. "I think you're over thinking this."

He shook his head angrily. "What were you going to tell her, Chelsea? About the past?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, as if that would stop the ache in my heart. "No."

"Remember the night I told you the story?" His eyes were dark. Almost cruel. "Remember what I said about not telling anyone?"

The memory came back almost instantly, so clear. Like it had happened yesterday. Alone is his room, with the rain splattering the windows, carefully watched by the eyes of the people in the photos on his desk. Julia. Mirabelle. And, worst of all, the wide, happy green eyes that belong to his sister. Marissa. His words – low and threatening – echoed in my head.

"_Don't go blabbing this to other people. Or you'll regret it."_

My eyes filled with tears, and pain so horrible it stopped my breath for a second engulfed my mind. I met his eyes. He looked shocked, as if he couldn't fathom how such terrible words had formed on his lips.

That was a low blow, and he knew it.

A sob began somewhere deep in my stomach, but I suppressed it before it made its way out. Suddenly, I didn't want him to see me cry. I hated it – so, so terribly – when he acted like this. It reminded me of my anger, my _hate_ of him, when we first met. When I'd first gone to stay at his apartment in the city.

He'd only done it as a favor to Julia . . . He'd told me knew I couldn't start a successful life on Sunshine Islands. He thought I would fail.

And his words had been so spiteful and vicious, I'd hid away in the bathroom for a long time before coming out and facing him again. I withheld my sob, long enough for me to say my reply without sounding shaky or weak.

"If it _worries _you so much," I hissed, "Then perhaps you _shouldn't _have told me in the first place. Maybe you _should _have left me alone. Maybe you shouldn't have _married _me."

Hurt came into his eyes, but I wouldn't stop and let it affect me now. I stomped into the bathroom, locked the door, and buried my face into a soft towel. My sob was soundless; the tears streaked down my cheeks silently.

My body rocked back and forth slowly on the ground, and my fingers trembled. I heard him jigging the doorknob a few times, and trying to get me to open the door, in a soft voice, but I ignored him.

After a while, he must realized that his efforts were futile, because it was silent behind the door. I'm not sure how long I stayed in there. It might have been minutes or hours; it didn't really matter.

Eventually, I accepted I couldn't live out the rest of my life in a hotel bathroom, so I pulled the door open and walked out with my head held high. Of course my eyes were puffy and red, and my cheeks were tearstained, but I could still maintain a sense of dignity.

He was sitting on the bed, waiting. "Chelsea."

He stood, his voice pained and repentant. My original plan was to continue ignoring him, to let him know how deeply his words cut me. But of course it went out the window when a louder sob broke through my mouth before I could stop it.

"Why, Vaughn? Why would you say that to me?" I sounded broken.

His arms were around me then, stoking my hair.

"I know, I know," he whispered quietly, "I . . . that was stupid. I'm so sorry, Chelsea."

He held me against him tightly. "You know I didn't mean it, right? Please, I was just . . . angry."

"I know." I sighed. "You're mean when you're angry."

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "But I should never be mean to you."

"No."

He kissed both of my cheeks, so full of remorse.

"I'll never bring it up again," he whispered, "I don't regret anything that happened in the past . . . with us. I'd do it again. A thousand times over. I love you . . . so much more than I thought I could love . . . anyone."

"I love you, too." My voice was still pained, and he clutched me even closer, misreading it.

I forgave him. I knew it was just a moment of anger. I could feel it in the tender way he was touching me, the loving words he murmured in my ears. What was hurting me now was that fact that I was planning to go through with something that would hurt him the most. No matter how good I was at deceit, using the talent was both treacherous and horrid.

Especially to Vaughn.

I hoped – more than anything – that he would see my reasoning and not be upset before I told Claire. I would have to convince him . . . I tried not to think of the problem anymore.

Because, right now, I just wanted him to hold me, to love me, and pretend like all our problems were merely figments of our imaginations.

* * *

The next day – supposedly our last day in the city – the phone rang very early in the morning. I had been getting used to sleeping in later than usual, so I was still in bed. So was Vaughn.

But we both groaned groggily when the shrill sound the phone pierced the peaceful atmosphere. I yawned hugely and held it to my ear.

"Hello?"

Vaughn muttered something about electronics and closed his eyes again.

"Hello, Chelsea?" Megan asked brightly.

A strange mix of happiness and caution swept over me the second I heard her voice.

"Good morning." I tried not to sound tired.

"Did I wake you?" She didn't sound particularly regretful.

"No," I lied, "I was already up."

"Oh, good. So, I was wondering if you were free for dinner this evening. I know the most charming little place on the corner of Eight Street."

"Oh." I paused, deliberating. I hadn't spoken to Vaughn about the possibility of us staying in the city for a little while longer – and he probably wouldn't be happy about it – but . . .

"Alright," I agreed, "What time?"

Megan laughed, though I couldn't exactly explain why. "Seven thirty. I'll meet you there."

She gave me the address and hung up.

"Who was that?" Vaughn's eyes opened a crack.

"My friend. Megan." I hesitated. "I told her we'd go to dinner with her tonight."

"Thought we were leaving today."

"Well . . . I'd like the stay for a little while longer," I said.

He sighed. "Okay."

My eyes widened. I hadn't expected him to agree so easily. But perhaps he still felt guilty about our fight yesterday, and wanted to appease me. The idea seemed even more likely when his hands began caressing me gently.

"I want you," he breathed in my ear.

I smiled. "Insatiable, aren't you?"

He moaned in response, unbuttoning my pajama top. It took longer than it should have for the sound of the phone rigging again to reach my ears. I blinked, trying to clear my brain. Groaning, I turned away to answer it. Vaughn frowned unhappily.

"Hello?" My objection to this call was made clear by the simple greeting.

"Hi, Chelsea!" Julia ignored my sullen tone, obviously too cheerful to notice or care. "I have amazing news."

"Taro was wrong about a weather prediction?" I guessed, still snide.

She huffed impatiently, and I pictured her rolling her eyes. "No, of course not."

"Get off the phone, Julia," Vaughn grumbled into the phone, over my shoulder.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, dear cousin," Julia said, still merry, "But it couldn't be helped."

"Ugh." Vaughn slumped back onto the pillows.

"Put me on speaker, Chelsea, so the grouch can hear my news."

Smiling, I pressed the speaker button.

"Am I on?" she asked.

"Yep."

"Okay." I heard a clapping noise. Julia giggled. "Elliot finally proposed!"

"I told you he would," I said, recalling our earlier conversation.

"About time." Vaughn rolled his eyes.

"You're so mean to me," Julia sniffed.

"When's the wedding, Jules?" I asked, hoping she would ignore him.

"Whenever you decide to come home." She sounded a bit irked by this fact. "Which, in fact, should be today. But it won't be."

"How did you know that?" I wondered, puzzled.

"I'm coming to city. I have things to buy – shoes, accessories, makeup. I only have the dress – I'm not getting married looking so plain!"

"I used your makeup," I said, hurt.

"Well, you're more content and appreciative than me, Chelsea." Julia laughed. "I want something new. So I'm going to stay with you two for a few days."

"We want go home." Vaughn frowned.

Inside, I was smiling. This was my chance to prolong our stay in this godforsaken city until Claire returned from her trip.

"Okay, Julia – but you owe us," I told her.

She snorted. "Whatever. I should be there at some point tomorrow . . ."

"Fine. Goodbye," Vaughn said abruptly.

"Aren't you happy for me?" Julia pressed.

"Yes. Bye."

I gave him a hard look. "Julia, we'll talk when you get here. _I'm _so happy for you. Goodbye, love you."

"Oh, I love you too, Chelsea! I'll see you both soon." I nudged Vaughn. "Tell your cousin that you love her."

He made a face at me, but he sighed. "Love you, Julia."

She laughed. "That's the first time you've said that to me in years Vaughn. K, see you."

The line went dead.

"Now," Vaughn said, placing a hand on my hip. I laughed at the professional tone of his voice.

And then I kissed him.

* * *

The restaurant Megan direction us to was indeed small, but a pretty, quaint Italian place.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Seen thirty." Vaughn held my hand tightly.

When we approached a waiter, he nodded and told us Megan was already here. He pointed us in the right direction, and soon we were sitting across from her.

She was still dressed as stylishly as ever, only her nails were a dark purple to match the elegant coat and earrings she wore. The black v-neck shit beneath that was speckled with tiny shining diamonds, arranged to form the words _Beauty Queen. _

Her blonde hair was combed, and shining in the dim lights. Her eyelashes were done up with mascara, and her icy blue eyes stared at us with a warm smile. Like before, something felt off with her cheerful attitude.

"Good evening, Chelsea, so glad you could make it." Her voice was polite enough, but I couldn't help but notice how those purple nails were drumming the table rhythmically.

_Tap, tap, tap._

"It's good to be here, Megan. This is my husband, Vaughn." I gestured to him.

Megan's eyes flashed with some unrecognizable emotion she covered it. "Hello, Vaughn."

He nodded at her once.

"It's so lovely to spend an evening here together. Your wife is lovely." She smiled at him, in a way that made a ball of nervousness coil in my stomach.

"Yes." Vaughn agreed. "She is."

"We met in a department store."

She proceeded to carry on quite a long conversation. I participated as often as I could. I still found her very enjoyable to talk to, so it was a shame she brought out such ominous feelings.

Surely it was just my imagination.

The waiter approached us and asked for our orders. I got spaghetti and Vaughn got some lasagna thing. After he left, Megan excused herself to go to the bathroom, turning a corner and disappearing down a long hallway, purse in hand.

She was gone for a very long time. When she returned, we made small talk until the waiter approached and gave us our food. Megan was particularly flirtatious with the waiter. When he left, we began talking again.

Somehow, we moved onto the topic of Finsbury Street.

"I always wished to live there," Megan said, "It's quite a spectacular neighborhood."

"My parents live there," I said.

"Really? Fabulous." She leaned back in her chair, and suddenly she was smirking mischievously. "I did stay there, for a while. Until I left."

Her expression changed quite suddenly, by the end of her words. Became bitter. And – strangest of all – as she spoke, she was staring at Vaughn.

"Because of a rather unfortunate event," she murmured quietly.

A tense moment passed. Vaughn's eyebrow rose questioningly. But before he could comment, I hurriedly changed the subject, saying the first words that came to mind.

"Vaughn grew up on Finsbury Street, too. In the white house on the corner."

I regretted the words as soon as they were spoken.

He tensed at my side, and glanced at me, irritated. Megan dabbed her lips delicately with a napkin.

"Yes," she agreed. Her voice held an edge of steel.

"There were some residents in that home at the time," she continued, "A woman, with unnaturally blonde hair . . . a man, very tall . . ." – one hand clenched the edge of the table – "A boy, with the strangest eyes I'd ever seen . . . and a girl. The woman called her Marissa."

"Sounds like you paid an awful of attention to my house." Vaughn spoke through his teeth.

Megan shrugged, smiling, completely ignoring his hostile glare. "Oh, I was right across the street. How could I not see things?"

A long silence passed, and I swallowed a hard lump in my throat. Though it was normal to pick up a few things about your neighbors . . . something about her tone, the way she described them . . . was strange.

Bitterness mixed with anger, and a hint of some other emotion, well concealed in her icy eyes. Whatever it was, it sounded like a promise.

And then Megan said something that made me nearly drop my fork.

"She's your sister, isn't she? Marissa? Whatever happened to that girl?"

Vaughn still openly glared at her. Other people were starting to notice the tense atmosphere; the family next to us was eyeing the scene nervously. I glanced at a small boy sitting there, with chestnut colored hair and wide dark eyes, and smiled. To reassure them.

"She died," I said, before Vaughn could answer.

I was pleased with how cool my voice sounded, though my stomach always churched so violently I could puke whenever I spoke of this. Megan looked away from a minute; I couldn't see her reaction. But when she turned to stare at us again, she looked properly mournful.

"Oh. What a shame – she was really very pretty, and polite." She shrugged. "But that's what happens sometimes, right? The people we love die for no good reason."

Megan drew in a sharp breath. When she spoke again, her voice was so soft I had to strain to hear it.

"Or, in some cases," she murmured, "They are taken from us."

Vaughn shuddered and pushed his plate away. I looked at him, suddenly worried by how pale his face was, how empty of emotion his eyes were. I dropped my fork onto the barely-eaten spaghetti and stood.

"We should really be going now, Megan," I said, my voice sharp.

Megan shrugged, examining her long nails with interest. "Call me," she said simply.

Vaughn got to his feet, muttered a curse under his breath, and hurried out of the restaurant, with me closely by his side. As we walked, though, I took note of something. When Megan had excused herself to use the restroom, she'd gone left, down a long hall. But the bathrooms were on the right; I could see the _Woman _and _Men _signs quite clearly.

Megan had gone in the wrong direction.

* * *

We hailed a cab, because neither of us really felt like walking back to the hotel.

"We'll have to pay for one more night," I murmured, "Julia's reservations didn't cover tonight."

"Okay." Vaughn's head leaned back against the seat, and his eyes closed.

He didn't comment on our disastrous evening, he merely sat there. At first, I thought the miserable look on his face was from our conversation with Megan. But then I noticed sweat beading on his forehead, though it was cool this evening. His face was whiter than chalk.

"Vaughn?" I asked, pressing my hand to his cheek. "Are you alright?"

He leaned his face into my hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said.

"You don't look fine." Concern was clear in my voice.

"Started feeling kinda crappy in the restaurant."

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked.

He shrugged, and repeated, "I'm fine."

I sighed, knowing he wasn't one to complain about physical ailments. The cab pulled up alongside the hotel. I paid the driver, and then we walked out onto the sidewalk. He seemed a little shaky as we walked to the counter, and dread clawed up my throat.

How could he have gotten sick so quickly? Thankfully, it was quiet in the lobby, with just the clerk behind the counter. He put me down for another night, but there were a few things I had to sign first. Vaughn leaned heavily against the counter.

As I listened, a barely audible moan slipped through his lips. If it hadn't been so silent in the lobby, I wouldn't have heard it. He was still sweating, though I was freezing because someone had left the windows open.

I drew circles on the back of his hand with my thumb while I signed the last paper. We walked to the elevator – him more so staggering rather than walking.

"Vaughn." I clutched his arms. "Maybe we should go see a doctor . . ."

He brushed my hands away. "No. I'm just fine."

I pursed my lips, listening to his shallow breathing. I unlocked our door and we went inside. Groaning, he leaned against a wall, biting his lip. As I watched, a small drop of blood ran down his chin.

I opened my mouth to demand we go see a doctor – his pride be damned. But at that moment, something happened so quickly it took my mind a few extra seconds to process it. I believe that I've had to watch quite a few horrible things in my life. A few images flashed through my mind faster than I would have thought possible.

Watching a horror movie a babysitter forced me to see at the age of eight.

Watching a man get beat up on a corner in a dark part of town when I was eleven.

Watching helplessly as the thin man pressed my back against the cold bricks of an ally in the middle of the night, hissing demands in my ear.

But there was nothing worse than this. Afterward, I would swear nothing else I've witnessed in my life made my blood turn to ice, my heart clench with undeniable fear like this. In the future, I would think of this moment as the most horrible memory of all.

Watching Vaughn collapse onto the floor.

**A/N: **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon: Sunshine Islands. And you can assume I won't magically acquire it by the end of this fic. That's why there will be no more disclaimers. **


	5. Watched

_4. Watched _

I missed Dr. Trent.

He came to Sunshine Islands occasionally, as a vacation. He liked the openness of my home and the grand structure of the Harvest Goddess' church. He was kind and considerate, he took his job very seriously (so much so that he cringed and about told me off when I offered him a French fry), and, honestly, he was nice to look at, with jet black hair and equally dark eyes.

I'd never been treated by him before, but Julia burnt her hand once while she was cooking something, and Dr. Trent took care of it.

I thought it was sweet how lovingly he spoke of his wife, and how it was conflicting, enjoying being on the Islands while missing her intensely at the same time. He easily gave off the feeling that everything was going to be alright, no matter how terrible the situation seemed.

But doctors in the city . . . not so much. After Vaughn collapsed on the floor, I had merely stood there for a long minute, too shocked to move. My heart had sped so fast; it threatened to stop at any moment.

Because if Vaughn's stopped, then so would mine.

My breath had come in shallow gasps, and my limbs felt like wood for that terrible moment. A thousand images ran through my mind impossibly fast, turning my bones into jelly. I had fallen to my knees, a frightened sob in my throat, and crawled over to where he was, flat on his back.

For a moment I stopped to stare, horrified beyond all imagining at how motionless he was. There were really no words to describe how I felt at that moment, how the entire world seemed to turn upside down and make absolutely no sense whatsoever.

It was complete and utter hell.

When my eyes registered the heaving of his chest – short, shaky breaths – I regained the ability to think, rationalize sanely. My hands passed over his face, and I shook him, hoping he'd regain consciousness.

"Vaughn?"

I'd repeated his name aloud a thousand times, my panic growing again when he didn't open his eyes. I clumsily got to my feet, and stumbled across the room. I had to get to the phone before panic took over completely again.

I yanked the cordless phone off the charger. My fingers were trembling so badly I couldn't even dial three numbers. After my second failed attempt, I gritted my teeth and forced my hands not to tremble.

I forced myself to keep thinking coherently, and constantly repeated the same word over and over in my mind.

_Focus. _

I held my breath as I dialed the number I'd hoped I would never have to. 911. Even thought I was considerably less panicky, my voice still shook when I told the woman on the other end of my emergency.

It broke on the last few words. The woman promised me an ambulance very soon, and hung up, ready to answer the next nameless person who had a different urgent matter.

Except I didn't want her to.

I wanted the woman to stay with me on the phone and ignore her other calls until the ambulance got here, regardless of somebody else's problems. Because right now – at this moment – _my_ problem was the biggest in the world.

And it felt like, if I was left alone, even for a short period of time, I would fall apart. I would simply lie down and die. I fell to my knees again and sobbed into my hands, sickened by my lack of strength, my lack of will.

I _should _turn around make sure Vaughn was still breathing. I _should _listen to his heart. But if I couldn't. It would kill me. I contented myself with listening to his breaths, still too short and shallow to be comforting.

I heard the wailing of a siren ten minutes later, even through the glass of the hotel window. Without thinking, I leapt to my feet again and took off down the hall, down the stairs and into the lobby.

Medics in white coats burst through the door with professional, concerned expressions. The clerk behind the counter stared, surprised. I didn't give him the chance to ask what they were doing here.

Afterward, I couldn't even recall what I said. My voice was not my own – because I was still stuck in that treacherous black hole where the world was treacherous and nothing made sense, where my thoughts jumbled together and fear stole my breath.

The only thing keeping me going now was raw, powerful _need. _

The need for Vaughn to be okay. I had never felt such adrenaline before; the experience might have been enjoyable if my circumstances weren't so dire. The authoritative Chelsea that was not lost in a world of pain guided the medics upstairs to her room.

I would be forever grateful for the part of me that did not lose it completely. The only thing I could comprehend on the drive to the hospital was the blasting of the siren, and the way cars pulled off to the side of the road to let us pass. It only made me tremble more violently.

The siren gave off a sense of urgency; it seemed to be saying, _"Make way, make way! Hurry! This is a life or death situation . . ." _

The medics inside were frowning grimly, and again, I wished for Dr. Trent. Upon reaching the hospital, they rushed Vaughn into the emergency room, and when I tried to follow, they told me I had to wait.

"No visitors there," a soft-spoken nurse told me, when some staff members barred my way.

The nurse looked tired, and her bright red hair was in a wild disarray; she had obviously been here for a while.

"What?" I couldn't understand what she was saying to me. Of course I should go in.

"No!" I yelled, my voice bouncing off the narrow walls of the hall, "You have to let me stay with him!"

"I'm sorry," said the nurse apologetically.

She gestured to a room on my right. "The waiting room is in there. Be prepared to wait for a while."

I was shaking so hard now, and my glare was so fierce I might have looked halfway deranged. The nurse must have seen how close I was the snapping, because another came up from behind and offered me some water.

I nearly ripped her hand off, along with the little cup. I stared at both their faces for a long time – their expressions were hard, firm, mixed with a bit of sympathy. They must see this sort of thing all the time.

When I saw how ineffectual my anger was, I started to sob. The cup slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor.

"Please," I begged.

The redhead nurse shook her head and took my hand, leading me into the waiting room. I followed her blindly, clutching her hand like it was my lifeline in this world. She sat me down in a wide green chair and looked at me with gentle eyes.

"Miss, it's going to be okay. We'll do everything we can, and keep you updated." She squeezed my hand when my eyes drifted away, locking on the door.

She waited until I looked at her again to speak. "What is your name?"

"Chelsea," I said, my voice soft, as if I was unsure of this fact.

"Chelsea," said the nurse. "It is alright. Calm down. Take deep breaths."

Something about her composure, the tender but firm tone of her voice, got to me. I inhaled sharply, and let the breath out through my nose. I closed my eyes, and tried to think of nothing at all.

"I'm okay," I murmured quietly after a moment. "I'll wait. Thank you."

The nurse's beeper stared going crazy, and she pursed her lips. "You're welcome – I have to leave now." She whirled and hurried away, flinging the door open and racing to the nearest elevator.

I waited for a very long time.

It could have been hours, days, years . . . I couldn't say, because, as it passed, I grew more and more numb. They made me do a lot of paperwork, and I did it robotically, giving it back when I was finally done. When I first looked up at the clock, I saw it was close to 11:30. The second time, it was midnight. The third, it was 12:18.

12:52, 1:14, 1:36, 1:52 . . .

Sometime after two, I locked eyes with another woman, sitting on the other side of the room. Her face was very pale, and her clothes were tattered. She hugged her knees to her chest in the chair, and was rocking very slowly.

Her lips had been mouthing something over. She must have sensed my stare, trying to decipher what those words were. There were tired circles under her eyes, and her lip was bleeding, as if she had bitten it very hard.

I blinked at her. Normally, when I met a stranger's gaze, I would smile and look away. In my current stare, though, I just gaped dumbly. We stared at each other for a long time, sympathizing. For a brief moment, I wondered why she was here.

She looked away first, and continued to mouth. She didn't look up when I stared this time. After a few minutes of hard scrutinizing, I made sense of her soundless babble.

_It's okay, everything's going to be alright . . . it has to be. _

I sighed, and wiped nonexistent piece of lint off my pants. I should be doing the same thing as her, chanting, hoping, praying . . . So that's what I did. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I didn't think about the present.

To make myself feel better, I thought of past memories. Somehow, they brought a sense of peace. I thought about when I'd first met Vaughn. I disliked him from that first moment, yet there were those strange tingles I got in my stomach whenever he touched me.

I thought about that night he'd first told me about Marissa, and how I'd tried in vain to kiss him. I remembered comforting him during a nightmare and waking up, horrified at being caught, in his bed. And, of course, I thought of that day I'd planned to go to the city and marry a wealthy blonde prince.

A prince who really belonged with a knowledgeable treasure hunter. I remembered kissing him – really kissing him – for the first time, out in the rain, behind Gannon's house. I thought of his eyes, his smile, and the many times we'd make love.

When I wasn't thinking about that, I was pondering over what led to this disastrous evening. What could have made him sick? We'd eaten at the restaurant, but I didn't think the chefs there often poisoned their guests . . .

I chewed the inside of my cheek, considering. Megan hadn't gone to the restroom like she'd said. She'd gone down a different hall, but I hadn't gotten to see where it led. The kitchen? A shudder so deep it rattled my very bones tore through me. I was trembling again as my mind formed my suspicion.

_Did Megan poison Vaughn? _

And, if she had, had she been trying to poison _me_ as well? I hadn't really eaten much of my spaghetti. Still, I'd had some . . . Maybe I was assuming wrong. Maybe it was something else. But when I searched for a different explanation, I came up blank.

I never guessed that the seemingly harmless woman with stylish clothes and shiny blonde hair would do something so . . . _cruel. _And with what motivation? What in the world would drive to some something treacherous to a stranger?

Suddenly, her words were echoing through my head, a memory from dinner, when we were talking about Finsbury Street.

"_I did stay there, for a while. Until I left." _

She was there right around the time Vaughn's family was there.

"_Because of a rather unfortunate event . . ." _

What had she been talking about? And was it in some way connected to her neighbors across the street? I suddenly had a very strong urge go to Finsbury Street, to study both the white house Vaughn had lived in and the one across from it, supposedly Megan's previous home. As if that would help my confusion.

There was only one thing I was positive of.

Megan was someone to stay away from. She was possibly dangerous, possibly very crazed and delusional. I ruled out the fact that she might have something against us personally. Vaughn said he didn't know who she was, so how could something requiring revenge happen between them?

I decided it was nothing more than pure insanity. Nothing else made sense. I could only hope she left us alone from now on. I suddenly wanted to be back home so badly, back on Sunshine Islands, where I knew everybody like family.

I even missed people I wasn't necessarily fond of; Regis, Nathan, the Harvest Goddess, Witch Princess . . .

But I had an obligation. The fact that we'd gone through a lot to stay here in the city and uphold it only made my need to fulfill it stronger. Once this was over – and it _would _be – we'd stick around just long enough for Claire.

And then we would leave, and hopefully never come back. Megan would disappear into the background, a terrible memory to be forgotten. I chanted this is my head so often it had to be true.

The other woman in the waiting room left a few minutes after our stare; she hurried out in quick, short steps. I hoped everything would work out for her. I yawned, and tried to focus on nothing but the ticking of the clock.

My eyelids were heavy, and sleep would take away the pain, if dreams didn't haunt me first . . . But, at that moment, the doors opened again, and the nurse with the red hair walked over to me, a small smile on her lips, and even darker circles under her eyes.

I wondered – fleetingly – if everybody in this building was tried. My drowsiness forgotten, I wrenched myself up so I was standing.

"Well?" I asked.

The word hung ominously in the air for a moment before she replied, her voice soft, but encouraging. "Chelsea, right? I apologize that you've had to wait for so long."

Though her smile was reassuring me, I glared at her, because she wasn't telling me what I wanted to her.

She sighed, and continued. "The man that came in with you was actually treated a long time ago – we've been trying to figure out what kind of poison was in his system. All I can tell you is it's extremely rare, and from somewhere in South America."

Though it enraged me that I'd been kept waiting for so long updating me – the way they _said _they would do – I had a feeling my anger would not make her speak any faster. My mouth formed the words that had haunted me for these very long hours.

"Is it lethal?"

"No."

The word was music to my ears; it made me want to dance around the waiting room and sing folk tunes. I breathed out a sigh of pure relief.

"He'll need to rest for three to four days." The nurse's voice was a bit louder, as if she knew I'd gone into some sort of happy daze.

I forced myself to listen. "Okay," I agreed.

"He's very weak, and we gave him a drug for the pain. Would you like us to call you if we find out what the poison was?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Alright. It's okay if he goes home with you now." She handed me a white piece of paper with cursive writing on it. "A prescription, for the pain pills. No refills. They should be ready in three to five hours. Come back if there are any more . . . episodes."

I nodded, relieved beyond words. I stepped forward to hug the nurse, elated. "Thanks."

She hugged back awkwardly, with one arm.

I stepped back, positively glowing. "What's your name?"

"Louis," she said.

"Thank you, Louis," I whispered.

She nodded. "He'll be out in a minute."

She turned and disappeared out the door. I grinned, pushing open the waiting room door so I could wait out in the hall. It would have been nice to speak to an actual doctor rather than a nurse – again I wished for Dr. Trent – but it all turned out well, so I couldn't really complain.

I tucked the piece of paper in my pocket and waited. Fifteen minutes or so later, I heard voices down the hall, one wonderfully familiar. Vaughn rounded a corner and met my eyes. I rushed forward without thinking, hugging him hard.

He made a pained noise.

I let go and stepped back. He was still very pale.

"Sorry," I murmured.

"It's okay." He pressed his hand to my cheek, and kissed my lips lovingly.

When he glanced over his shoulder, though, he seemed annoyed. Two nurses I hadn't noticed before were standing behind him, one clutching the handles of a wheelchair.

"Didn't need the damn thing," he muttered when I stared at him questioningly.

"Sir, it's required," said a nurse, her voice exasperated.

Vaughn gestured to the doors. "We're already here."

The nurses both sighed, and walked away. I almost groaned, thinking of the surely major bill we would no doubt receive.

"You shouldn't be so stubborn," I half-scolded.

His arm wrapped around my shoulders, and he leaned on me a little as we stepped through the doors and into the dark street. It had to be around three am now. He sighed. I paid for yet another night back at the hotel, grimacing at how this trip was hitting me financially.

I'd have to do some mining when I got home for big bucks. Vaughn wouldn't like it, but . . . When we went up to the room, I broke down again and sobbed in his arms. I told him about how scared I was, how bleak everything had been, how angry I was that he hadn't taken my initial suggesting of going to the hospital before he passed out.

He rocked me back and forth and murmured in my ear, mostly about how I had been right and that he was fine.

"I'm here, Chelsea, I'm here . . . ," he kept chanting.

His words only brought more tears, because I was so relieved. When the crying finally stopped, I just leaned my head on his shoulder, and closed my eyes. We sat like that in silence for a very long time, before my voice broke the quiet with a short, honest sentence.

"I think Megan poisoned you."

Vaughn hesitated, clutching me closer. When he spoke, his voice was even softer than mine had been.

"I think so, too."

* * *

The next morning, I didn't want to bicker with Vaughn.

Arguing was the very last thing I wanted to do, after last night. But he wanted to come with me to the docks, where I was going to pick up Julia, and I had to say no.

"Vaughn, you're supposed to rest," I said.

And he needed it. He was very weak, like the doctor said, so weak that Elliot might have a slight chance of beating him in a fight. I snorted, glad to find a bit of humor. No, not even now.

"I'm coming with you," he said stubbornly. But then his face contorted with pain, and he leaned against the wall, one of his hands pressed against him stomach.

"No, you aren't," I said quietly, when it was over.

He moaned, and let me move him back to the bed. I covered him with a blanket, at kissed his cheek.

"I'll be back soon."

* * *

"Chelsea, it's so good to finally see you!" Julia threw her arms around my neck, hugging me so tightly it was hard to breathe.

"I missed you, too, Julia," I managed to say.

She stepped back, her face aglow with joy. But then her lips pursed, and concern came into her eyes. "You look so tired and pale, Chelsea. Is something wrong?"

I sighed. I had debated on the way over here whether or not to tell her everything, but decided against it. As of this moment, I didn't want to think or talk about Megan. And, though I trusted Julia, I couldn't take the chance that she might accidentally tell Vaughn about what I planned to tell Claire.

No, those things would have to remain secrets.

But I could tell her about the poisoning thing – I just left out whom I thought – _knew_ – was responsible. She listened silently the entire time, clearly horrified.

"That's – that's terrible," she said when I finished. "Absolutely awful."

I nodded, and shrugged. "I was in the hospital really late last night. Pretty tired."

"I'll bet. He's fine, though, right? Nothing permanent?"

I smiled, touched by how concerned she was about him. "Vaughn is fine," I reassured her, "Just a little weak. He needs to rest for a few days."

She shook her head.

"That's just awful," she repeated.

I made a face as we began walking back to the hotel. "I'm sorry – this probably isn't what you want to here, since you've come to shop for your wedding."

"Yeah." Julia laughed. "Not the best way to start. While he was there, maybe the doctors should have altered his brain. So he was nicer."

I laughed along with her. "Maybe."

I buckled the seat belt. "We'll start shopping and gossiping as soon as possible," I promised.

"It's alright if you can't come along, Chelsea. I understand."

I smiled. "It's okay. I can come."

Though I didn't want to leave Vaughn, I knew that this was something Julia really wanted to do. When we got out of the cab, her eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You guys are still staying at this hotel? Your reservations have expired – and the price for one night is . . . enormous!"

"I know." I grimaced. "It's breaking my bank."

Julia looked thoughtful on our way up to the room in the elevator.

"What's on your mind?" I asked. "I know that look."

Julia shrugged. "I have a friend here in the city – well, Mom's friend – and he rents houses, for tourists to use for short periods of time. I wonder if we could mooch off him for a little while . . ."

I shrugged. "Maybe, if Mirabelle's okay with it."

"The houses are really nice," she said, "Nothing like Sabrina's mansion, but still pretty big."

I pushed the keycard into the door, and it swung open. Vaughn was watching TV, though he looked very unhappy with this activity.

"Hi," I said, leaning down to kiss him.

I meant for it to be a peck, but his hand pressed against the back of my neck, holding me in place while he kissed me deeply.

"Vaughn," Julia complained, "I didn't come here for a show. A very disgusting show."

He chuckled and let go of me. "Hi, Julia."

She kissed his forehead. "Hi, Vaughn. Heard about your accident."

His eyes flickered to me questioningly, obviously surprised I hadn't told her the whole story. I tried to convey without words that I hadn't, and that, for now, this little matter would remain an 'accident'.

He must have gotten the message, because he said, "Yeah. It sucks."

"Poor baby," Julia said, a hint of sarcasm in her tone. "You're just a fluffy teddy bear deep down, aren't you?"

He flipped her off, and she laughed.

I chuckled, too, because I knew she was just trying to shed some light on the situation.

"You guys should get packed," Julia announced, "Because we're leaving for that friend's I was telling you about."

"Today? Vaughn needs to rest," I said.

"He can rest at the house," Julia insisted.

Vaughn groaned, but he didn't ask about this friend. He simply got out of bed, took my hand, and trudged toward the door.

* * *

Julia was right; the house _was_ nice. It was fairly big, two stories and very clean. It had a lawn, too, and a patio. Downstairs was a living room, a kitchen, a dining room, and a room that seemed to have no apparent purpose.

Three bedrooms upstairs, two bathrooms, another empty room, and several large closets. From the outside, the house was a pretty mint green color, and the sun reflected off the little pond outside and made the water shimmer.

Mirabelle's friend had been overjoyed to see Julia, and he offered us this house for half of what he usually charged. It was a nice break to get after all the calamity. I made Vaughn lie down upstairs, and then I brought him soup.

He complained that it wasn't his throat that was hurting, so I ordered a pizza. That evening, after we'd settled in the house completely, Julia announced she was ready to shop. "We'd only be gone a few hours," she said when I looked up the stairs, concerned.

"Promise?" I asked.

She nodded solemnly. "Promise."

I sighed, grabbed my purse, yelled up the stairs, and then left with my very best friend.

* * *

Julia and I went to a huge department store than sold anything from perfume to dresses, toe rings to hairspray. It was a woman's paradise. Julia nearly passed out, having never seen such a glorious selection.

"I need some new makeup," she decided, "Some perfume, and possibly some shoes."

I let her look around for a long time, occasionally glancing at something I liked, but never buying. Finally, after Julia had everything she wanted in a basket, she eyed my empty hands.

"Aren't you getting anything?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Oh." Julia frowned.

On the way to pay, she was distracted by a long rack of dresses.

"We hardly ever need to be formal on the Islands, you know," I complained, though I, too, was tempted by the red silky fabric.

"But, Chelsea, they're so beautiful!" Julia grinned.

I sighed, caved, and went to look with her.

"So," she said after a minute. "What have you guys been up to, besides, um . . . well, you know."

I bit the inside of my cheek. During our first few days here, the only thing we'd really done was have sex. After that, Claire, Megan, and the poison episodes happened.

"Well . . . hmm . . ." I said, trying to avoid the question.

Julia frowned. "You haven't done anything, Chelsea? Gone to a movie, went out to dinner?"

_Besides last night? _"No."

Julia sighed, exasperated. "Surely the sex can't be that good."

I giggled, amused by her assumption. "Yes, it is," I said honestly.

Julia groaned. "Well, you have to do something fun before you go. You know what I saw on the way over here? Dancing. You'd love that."

"Yes," I agreed, "But Vaughn has to rest . . ."

"You'd only be out for a little while," she said, "Come on, Chelsea – you deserve it."

I hesitated, torn. The idea sounded very appealing.

"Maybe," I said.

She smiled, and held out a dress for me. "This one," she said.

It was very beautiful, I admitted to myself. Cut low enough to be provocative, but not enough to be over the top. And the fabric was to die for . . . I sighed, and clutched it close.

"Okay."

We paid at the counter, and giggled over wedding plans in the car on the way back. It delighted me to see Julia so happy.

* * *

A few days passed, and Vaughn seemed to get better. He was up and walking around the house more and more often, no matter how much I protested. He agreed eagerly when Julia suggested the dancing idea.

"Need to get out of this house," he'd grumbled.

We decided to go the very next day, after Vaughn's doctor appointment. They wanted to check him out one more time, just to make sure everything was alright. Julia planned to stay for as long as we did, but I could tell she was anxious to return home.

On the morning of the appointment, Julia said over coffee, "Chelsea, you look like you could use some alone time. I'll take Vaughn the doctor today."

"I don't need someone to _take _me to the doctor. I am not three years old," he snapped.

Julia rolled her eyes and acted like he hadn't spoken.

I hesitated. On one hand, I really should go. On the other, some silence might be nice. Yesterday I had finished a book I'd bought and I wanted the sequel . . .

Vaughn saw the contemplation in my eyes. "I'll go with Julia, Chelsea," he said, "And we'll be back shortly."

"I can go, if you want me to," I said. But the very thought of being in that waiting room again disturbed me more than I cared to admit.

"No." Vaughn shook his head. I smiled a little. He could generally tell what I wanted.

Just before Julia and Vaughn walked out the door, the phone rang. I picked it up, wondering who would be calling us now.

"Hello?"

"Chelsea, how are you?"

I nearly dropped the phone. I froze, and my heart broke into a sprint.

"How did you get this number?" My voice came out in a whisper.

"Does it really matter?" Megan asked, amused. "We should get together for lunch today."

My throat was so dry. I turned the phone off and pitched it across the room; it clattered loudly against the wall and fell to the ground. Vaughn and Julia rushed into the room. His hands were on my arms, concerned; I had no idea what my expression looked like.

"She called," I said quietly. "Megan."

Vaughn gritted his teeth. "If she calls again," he said lowly, "Call the cops."

I nodded, though I knew it would do no good. I had no proof of the poisoning thing. I would just have to go back to my original plan of ignoring her . . .

"Who's Megan?" Julia wondered.

Vaughn glared at her so fiercely she flinched.

"It's not important," I said quietly.

Julia looked a little hurt by my secrecy, but she let it go. Vaughn turned, and stalked out the door, muttering darkly under his breath. Julia gave me a sad look, and then she followed. I straightened up the house a little, and then I left.

* * *

I put the phone call in the back of my mind because, if I didn't, it would ruin my day. So I focused on the plot of the sequel I wanted. I knew the book had a picture of some sort of flower on it, red and white.

The rest of the cover was black, the writing of the title sleek and silver. I wasn't particularly used to reading fantasy, but I felt the need to find out what happened next very intensely. I took it off the shelf, paid for it, and then walked back.

I contemplated the idea of renting a car – walking was getting irritating, and cabs were very expensive. When I got back, I put the book on the couch and went to get some water. As I was filling the cup, I noticed, from the corner of my eye, the bare counter.

It was strange, because I was positive I left some sort of magazine here this morning. Julia must have moved it, though I couldn't imagine why she'd be interested in that particular copy when the only magazine she read was the _Cosmopolitan. _

A towel was bunched up on the floor, which was also strange, because I remembered folding it before I left. I placed it back on the counter and went to get my book. I took it upstairs into my bedroom and read for a few minutes.

It was hot in the house, so I drained the glass very quickly. Annoyed with one of the main characters leaving, I slammed the book shut and went downstairs for more water. When I stepped into the kitchen doorway, I froze.

The towel was back on the floor, bunched up the same way it had been before, though I'd put it nowhere near the edge of the counter. Alarmed, I put the towel back, making sure it was folded neatly. It was dead quiet for a long moment, until I heard the creaking. It was long, it was soft, and it was bone chillingly creepy.

Without thinking, I walked slowly towards the sound, into the living room. My heart felt like it would leap out of my chest. One of the little cupboards below the TV was standing open. It had not been before.

I trembled in the doorway for a few minutes, before whipping around and walking quickly towards the front door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw into the kitchen.

Fear violently gripped my heart. I sprinted to the door, wrenched it open, and ran into the cool, spring afternoon, away from the house. Because I had seen something in the kitchen that was enough to frighten me so deeply I could no longer think straight.

The towel was on the floor.

**A/N: There's a new poll on my profile, by the way. **

**Guesses as to what book Chelsea bought? :) **


	6. Message

_6. Message _

I'm not sure how long I ran.

All I knew was that, by the time I stopped, the bright, sunny neighborhood my rented house resided was far behind me. The tall, intimidating buildings of the city were all around me. I leaned heavily against the side of a brick building, sucking air into my lungs as fast as possible; it felt like they were on fire.

A thousand thoughts were running through my mind in the same second; but it was impossible to think clearly with the strange mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline still lingering in my veins.

My hands dug into my pockets, but all I found was a quarter, a marble and a sad-looking stick of gum. Not surprisingly, I had neglected to bring any cash with me on my abrupt departure of the house.

The memory, the fear, invaded my brain again and I shuddered violently, earning a few strange looks from fellow pedestrians. I went into the tiny Café, praying they would at least let me have some water.

I approached the counter, summoning all my will to make my voice calm. "Water, please?"

The cashier raised his eyebrows, but he gave me what I wanted. It was clear from the wary look in his eyes that my smooth tone did not match the crazed look in my eyes.

He'd probably expected me to demand all his money, and thankful that event hadn't occurred. Still breathing heavily, I slumped down on a tiny chair, in front of a tiny table. I chugged the water, and then tossed the cup towards a nearby garbage – it missed by several inches, but I didn't have the energy to retrieve it.

I couldn't remember the last time I had run like that. I'd never had a real reason to. I liked to think I was in reasonably good shape, from all the work I did on the Islands – and because I was naturally slim.

But I had run for a _long_ time, and I was beginning to feel my muscles protest. They throbbed and ached, and rubbing them only seemed to irritate them more. Usually, when I ran, I could tell when my body needed to stop.

But I hadn't been paying any attention whatsoever to bodily functions – my only thought was similar to that wrenched night in the ally with the thin man.

_Get away. _

While this encounter hadn't been nearly as endangering physically, it had frightened me beyond all imagining. It was only after I had been sitting in that tiny chair did I allow my mind to form the sentence I'd been avoided ever since I stepped in the Café.

_There was someone in my house. _

And not just some regular, every day burglar, either. Someone who was intent on frightening me. Why else would they do that thing with the towel? Whoever it was obviously was trying to play a mind game with me, possibly to see how I'd react . . .

This realization in itself was much scarier than the first. I glanced at the clock on the wall, because if I didn't distract myself I might break down here in the Café. It was close to four thirty. I let my head fall into my hands on the table.

A small part of me – the very small part that wasn't insanely petrified – was ashamed for my being so feeble. First, when Vaughn passed out, I couldn't stop shaking and crying and I hadn't been able to look at him.

Then, in the waiting room, I had done nothing but wallow in grief, until I finally found some measure of hope in my memories. And now . . . what was I doing? Frightened to the point of having a mental breakdown.

It isn't until real emergencies that you find out what you are truly made of. I just hadn't expected that I was so . . . weak. My mother would be ashamed – she was the symbol of female strength and intelligence, no matter what her vanity level may be.

I'd always respected her for that.

I tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that anyone would freak out to the idea of a stranger in their home (rented or otherwise). But, even though I repeated it often, I knew I was trying to convince myself to believe something I really didn't.

I am not strong. I am weak, feeble, and frail. I should be tougher . . . I sighed, deeply, wising I was alone, wishing there weren't other people here, and the irritating noise of the clock ticking on the wall.

Was it only a matter of time before something worse happened to Vaughn and me?

Something worse than tripping, food-poisoning and disturbing visitors?

For a long time, I simply tortured myself with this idea. I wanted to go home so badly. Not even my promise to Claire was enough to keep me here in this wrenched city anymore. But Vaughn was still so weak from the poisoning incident, and honestly, he wasn't in the best condition for traveling, even for a short period of time.

I contacted the doctor a few days afterward and he informed me of this pleasant piece of information. We would just have to stay here. And hope nothing else would go wrong . . . But somewhere, in my heart, I knew these terrors were not at their end.

Like I'd thought before, if someone was in the house simply to scare me, then it must be something personal, not petty motives like theft or vandalism. Someone was deliberately trying to scare, and possibly, hurt me.

Or worse . . . Vaughn.

I moaned quietly to myself, allowing a few tears to escape. I wished it was possible to go back in time and stay on the Islands. It was stupid to venture out into this atrocious city in the first place. It crossed my mind – my stupid, foolish mind – to place the blame partly on Julia.

She was the one that gave us the reservation tickets . . . But then I dismissed the thought, disgusted with myself for even thinking it. Julia's actions came from love and happiness. I suddenly felt somebody's eyes on the back of my head.

Sniffing, I lifted it, and stared into the eyes of the cashier. Upon further study, I realized he was very young, probably my age.

His brow was furrowed, his black eyes concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I looked away, praying the whites of my eyes weren't red, that my nose wasn't running. Even though I knew it was.

He poked my shoulder so I would meet his gaze again, and he pushed a cup of black coffee into my hand.

"Looked like you needed this," he said.

"I don't have money on me," I replied, my voice sad.

The cashier shrugged. "It's okay."

"Thanks." I smiled at him, relieved the some people were still capable of small acts of kindness. "Appreciate it."

"You're welcome." He turned and strode back to his post.

I sipped the black liquid, its familiar taste somewhat calming my thoughts. I took a long, deep breath, realizing that I would only work myself up and think illogically if I kept reacting badly to each realization. I needed to be calm. _Strong, _I reminded myself.

First, I analyzed what I knew – or thought I did. First, someone was trying to frighten me. Two, I wanted to go home. Three, going home wasn't an option because of Vaughn's condition. Four, my situation really sucked. I smiled a little to myself at the last fact.

Now it was time to move onto a big question: _Who was in my house?_

I could think of nobody with a personal vendetta against myself. There was nobody I was aware of who truly hated me – not enough to sneak into my house and perform some strange magic act with a towel.

I couldn't think of anyone who wanted to hurt Vaughn, either. Surely, he was a jerk. He was moody, and standoffish with most people. But that didn't warrant this kind of reaction. The only person who might have a valid reason (or at least, in his mine) to inflict pain upon Vaughn, was Jack.

Surely, he was angry about going to prison. And if he couldn't take out his anger, his vengeance upon Marissa, who was already dead, why not the next best thing? But that didn't make sense. Jack would have no access to the outside world in prison, not enough to organize a plot.

So he was out. That left me to think about the only person who had caused us real anguish in the city.

Megan.

The question was, just how sure was I that she had poisoned Vaughn? If she didn't, that would explain why she had called today, all cheerful and suggesting lunch. But it could be part of a scheme . . . blow everything off and pretend it was nothing, that she didn't do it . . . but why?

The word rang through my head at least a dozen times, and I was giving myself a headache trying to consider it.

_Why, why, why, why, why? _

Megan shouldn't have anything against either of us. She didn't _know _us. The only form of contact she had was when she lived across the street from Vaughn in the past, but what sort of thing would require a vendetta of this magnitude? It didn't make sense.

Absolutely no sense at all.

That was why it would be so easy to dismiss Megan altogether, because of the lack of motives. And yet, something inside me I couldn't describe urged me not to dismiss. It urged me to remember her sinister smiles, her cryptic comments, her fake, huge smiles . . .

Something was off. I just couldn't put my finger on it. So while I had some strong suspicions, it was wrong to jump to conclusions if I wasn't sure.

Maybe Megan had nothing to do with this. Maybe I was making something out of nothing. For now, the person in my home would remain a mystery, a terrorizing and curious memory. Sighing quietly, I realized I was left with only one option, since I was stuck here.

I would have to be careful. It angered me that I couldn't do more than that, but what else to do? I had no proof of any of these strange events, so I couldn't report them. There was nothing _to_ do, but be careful.

Pray this dark cloud of misfortune and mystery left us for good, never to rear its ugly face again. I stood, realizing that almost forty five minutes had passed since I first began thinking, and it was getting dark. But I had to go back.

My face paled and my heart seemed to stop as a certain thought crossed my mind. What if Vaughn and Julia got back from the doctor's, and the stranger did something to them when I wasn't there? What if I returned, and they were both unconscious or possibly . . .

No.

I would not think that word. It was not possible. It could not _happen. _

Suddenly, the aches in my body didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter that I had just run as far as I'd thought I could go, because like it or not, I was running back again.

Pure adrenaline coursed through my veins again, keeping me going, promising energy I didn't actually possess. I yanked the door open and sprinted outside, down sidewalks and across streets.

I had to get back, I had to get back . . .

Just as I reached the outskirts of the city, though, I saw something that made me stop. As I flew by the very last towering building and was about to enter the neighborhood streets, a very familiar pair of blue eyes met mine.

As I jerked my body to a stop, Julia's eyes widened, emotions flashing though them very quickly. First relief, then confusion, and then uncertainty. She finally settled on being annoyed.

"Chelsea! Where have you been? Vaughn and I got back from the doctor an hour ago! At first we just assumed you went out, but then it started to get dark, and we got worried . . ."

"So you came looking for me?" I asked, relieved she was out of the house.

"Well, yeah. Where were you, anyway? Jeez, Chelsea, the last thing I want to do on my wedding-shopping vacation, is hunt down my best friend while the mall is having amazing sales!"

My mind struggled to process this trivial information. A much more important question burst from my lips.

"Where's Vaughn?"

"Back at the house," Julia answered, clearly irritated I hadn't replied to _her _question.

Dread gripped my heart for long moment before I ripped free of its paralyzing grasp. Julia caught the flash of horror in my eyes.

Her brows furrowed in concern and bewilderment. "Chelsea, what's wrong with" –

She didn't get the chance to finish. My hand had shot out and was gripping her arm. I turned, and pulled her along with me down the street, frustrated at how slowly she was going. Who knew what I would find back at the house . . . ?

"Chelsea? Chelsea, stop it! You're freaking me out." Julia sounded very concerned now, her voice higher than usual.

"Julia, we have to get back to the house as fast as possible," I babbled, "I know it's crazy, but you have to trust me. Do you have money?"

"No."

I cussed under my breath, which caused Julia's eyes to widen. I never cursed.

"No questions, Julia, please," I begged, "Let's go!"

She stared at me for three incredibly long seconds, while I pleaded silently with my eyes for her to understand. She finally muttered something about craziness, and then took off down the street.

We sprinted together as fast as possible, her being slightly quicker because of her height. After a while, I knew she must have been tired, but she never complained; just kept pace with me, as we raced like possessed women to the house.

The adrenaline was burning through my veins again, and I passed her eventually, driven by my insane need. She was never far behind, though. When we finally reached the house, I didn't even stop for breath – I nearly ripped the door open, and staggered inside.

I heard Julia come in behind me; she was gasping raggedly. Her cheeks were red and one of her hands was grasping her ribs – probably a side-cramp. My breathing was just as fast and jerky. My voice came out half-crazed.

"Vaughn?"

Relief beyond belief surged through me when he approached me, completely normal and unharmed, coming through the living room archway and down the hall. His eyes widened when he saw me; I knew how I must look: crazy, fierce and driven.

I fell into his arms when he was close enough, burying my face in his chest, barely keeping a sob of relief in.

He held me tightly against him, and I saw Julia's face from the corner of my eye, more than a little worried.

"Chelsea? What's wrong? What happened?"

Vaughn pulled me back slightly to look at me; I wished he wouldn't, because I was still a wreck.

"I – I" – I was suddenly faced with a difficult question; one I would have to consider very quickly with the way they were both staring at me, like I was an escaped mental patient who could snap at any moment.

Should I tell them about my creepy encounter today? It seemed highly unnecessary. I didn't want to upset either of them, and Vaughn would insist on going home immediately. But we couldn't go . . .

I just had to be careful. I chanted the words a few times like a mantra in my mind. I forced my expression into composure, smiling, releasing my death grip on him. I shrugged, calling upon my years of teenage deceit for aid. It wasn't easy, but I calmed down.

My voice was reasonably cool, normal. "Nothing's wrong," I said, "I just went out a little earlier today. I was coming home eventually . . ."

Julia pursed her lips, and her eyes narrowed.

I gave her a warning look, one that promised to discuss this later, privately, but she spoke her thoughts aloud anyway.

"Chelsea, you were running like a crazy person when I ran into you. And you wouldn't even stop to have a conversation with me – you had this insane look in your eyes, and you practically begged me to sprint back here with you."

I shrugged again, forcing myself not to glare. "I haven't exercised much since I got to the city. I started to feel fat."

Julia shook her head suspiciously, looking to Vaughn when she spoke again.

"It was different than that . . . She looked half-insane. Like the world come to an end if she didn't get back _immediately._"

I looked up at him. I wasn't surprised by the matching suspicion in his gaze, but that didn't stop me from being horrified by it. They both knew I was lying. But then – to my intense surprise – Vaughn shrugged, and the suspicion melted out of his eyes, becoming detached.

"If Chelsea said it wasn't a big deal, then it wasn't."

Now it was _my_ turn to be suspicious. He wasn't one to drop subjects so easily. I was fairly certain that the topic would be brought up later, when Julia wasn't around. Julia stared for a long time at both of our faces, so indifferent, like this was the smallest matter in the world.

I would be lying if I said I didn't feel a sharp sting in my heart when Julia looked at me again, hurt and betrayal evident in her expression. We never kept secrets from each other. Ever.

"Fine, Chelsea. _Don't_ tell me. I don't care." She hid her hurt well behind anger.

She turned and marched up the stairs, making sure we heard the door slam when she was in her room. Sadness and regret welled up inside me; hurting Julia was more painful that hurting myself.

I leaned heavily against the wall with closed eyes, allowing myself to feel relief that nobody was hurt. The ache in my muscles was even more intense than it had been in the Café; it was like someone was repeatedly pinching them.

My knees started shaking a little, and I was sure there was no color in my face. I didn't react when I felt arms under my shoulders, under my knees. I let Vaughn carry me up the stairs, and place me on the bed.

He left for a moment, only to return with a big glass of water. I took it, more grateful for it than anything else I'd ever received. When I was done drinking, I lay limply on the bed, as my eyelids drooped.

A light blanket was draped over my body, and Vaughn's lips were at my ear.

"We'll talk about it later."

I sighed, knowing that he wouldn't let it go, and I would have to lie. Again. Would I never get the chance to be honest? I felt him kiss my forehead, and then the door closed. I yawned hugely as the sound of his footsteps quieted.

Even in my half-conscious state, I was still thinking, still calculating. I'd left the house roughly around four, and gotten back about five forty five. I'd been in the Café for forty five minutes, and Julia and Vaughn got back from the doctor's about an hour before I left. That left fifteen minutes unaccounted for, fifteen minutes that this house was supposed to be vacant.

Fifteen minutes for the stranger to leave.

* * *

Julia was still very aggravated with me the next day, and she wasn't above showing it. She sighed or scoffed every few minutes at her magazine, though Vaughn and I both knew who it was directed at.

My eyes flicked over to the bare part of the floor where that wrenched towel had once been. The mere sight of it brought back memories of panic and fear; I'd thrown it out the first chance I got. I threw back another drink of coffee, just as Julia's eyes met mine over the magazine, plainly irritated.

Julia was very bad at the silent treatment; she was practically begging for me to apologize. And so I did. Mainly, because I felt badly. That didn't mean she was going to get the truth.

"I'm sorry about yesterday, Julia," I said.

"Sorry about what?" She asked, never taking her eyes off whatever she was reading.

"Sorry for upsetting you."

"How about lying to me?"

"Julia, Chelsea already said what happened," Vaughn snapped, "Why would she lie about it?" J

ulia pursed her lips. "You know she's lying, too, dear cousin, you just don't choose to admit it. I forgive you, Chelsea, but I'm still irked you won't tell me what really happened."

I chuckled quietly to myself – sometimes I forget how deeply Julia knew Vaughn. Probably just as much as I did. No, on second thought, probably not.

Vaughn stood and left the room, muttering something angry under his breath.

I smirked, and said, "I wish you wouldn't annoy him so much."

Though, in reality, I was amused, and trying to make conversation. Julia hesitated, unsure for a moment whether or not to respond.

But then she caved and replied, "Why? It's fun. And he knows I'm only joking anyway. Most of the time."

Her eyes narrowed accusingly.

"So, what else do you need to buy?" I asked, hurriedly changing the subject.

She allowed me to do so, and I could hear the old excitement in her voice whenever she spoke of her wedding.

"Nothing, really. I should be leaving shortly. I was going to go back when you did, but who knows how long you'll be here now."

I winced, knowing she was correct.

Julia leaned forward, and said lowly, "Vaughn might lie to you and say that the doctor gave the okay for traveling; but he didn't. He said it was best to wait another six days."

I snorted, moaning internally at this information. I wondered where Claire was at the moment. Surely she would be back in town very soon . . .

"Thanks, I'll remember that," I said.

Julia shrugged. "I'm not sure why, though – he seems alright to me."

"Of course he does," I agreed, "That's what he wants you to think. Vaughn's very capable of putting on a show, you know. He gets dizzy, occasionally. And slightly confused."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he'll walk into a room and forget why he came there."

Julia laughed. "If that's a bad thing, I must have been poisoned, too. I do that all the time."

I grinned, knowing it happened to me, too, occasionally. Julia could always cheer me up, no matter what my circumstances.

"I still think he's just fine," she insisted, "Everyone gets dizzy once in a while."

"Why do you want him to be okay all of a sudden?" I asked.

"I always want him to be okay. I love him. Sometimes. Anyway, while I was searching for you yesterday" – here she paused to glare – "I passed the most elegant-looking building, a huge ballroom. People go there to dance."

"Vaughn's not well enough for that," I said.

But the idea of going out for one evening, putting all the creepy stuff out my head, sounded so wonderful. I wanted it so badly.

Julia could see the longing in my eyes. "He'll be fine," she repeated, "And if it gets bad, then come home. Come on, Chelsea, don't let that pretty red dress you bought go to waste."

"What would you do while we're out?"

"Go to the mall. I have everything I need for the wedding, but I'm still here for a few days. My frivolous need of new clothes has not been satisfied." Her eyes nearly danced with delight.

"Try not to get anything too revealing," I said, gesturing with my chin to her low-cut blouse.

Julia sighed. "I dress just fine."

"Sure you do, Jules, sure you do."

"So, you'll go out tonight? Have some fun?" She asked hopefully.

"Yeah, I guess," I agreed, conceding with grace, "If Vaughn wants to."

As I got up, and went up the stairs – which I had heard him stomp up – a memory flitting through my mind. Dancing with Vaughn on the beach, to a lovely song. Falling for you. Everything had been so complicated then, my feelings for him still unrealized.

Never would I have guessed during that blissful time that dance that I would someday end up married to him. Sighing a little, I pushed open the door of our room. Vaughn was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, sulking like a child.

I crawled onto the bed and snuggled beside him, enjoying the silence.

After a while, I kissed his temple, and murmured, "Sorry Julia's so mean to you."

He made a face at me, which made me laugh.

"She's so, so . . . so" – he struggled to find the right word, glaring angrily at the nightstand next to the bed.

"Wonderful?" I suggested, "Kind? Caring?"

"Not my first choice of words," he grumbled.

I smiled, and let my hands wander. Just as my fingers were starting to play with the buckle on his belt, he spoke the fatal words.

"So, what really happened yesterday?"

I froze for a second, and then sat up. I couldn't think of a way to make this work – expect to downplay Julia's description of me yesterday.

I shrugged, instantly nonchalant again. "Just what I said. I thought you believed me."

He glared. "Chelsea, I can tell when you're lying, no matter how good you think you are at it."

"I'm not lying," I insisted, meeting his glare with equally hostile eyes. "Julia was just being overly dramatic. I was in a hurry to get home, that's all. I wanted to read my book. And see you."

I stroked the cover, and Vaughn rolled his eyes, not one for fantasy.

"Chelsea . . ." His tone indicated impatience.

For a very long time, we simply stared at each other, without saying a word. He still knew I was lying. But after a long time, he seemed to accept that I wasn't going to spill. He broke out gaze first, staring out the window unhappily.

"Fine, Chelsea. I believe you."

But I knew that he didn't. I knew he was just trying to appease me, though he was just as irritated as Julia for not being told the truth. Not wanting him angry with me, I quickly changed the subject. I put my lips to his ear, and ran my fingers down his jaw.

"Julia thinks we should go dancing tonight."

He shrugged. "Fine."

"It's okay if you don't feel up to it. I know you're still not a hundred percent."

"I am," he instantly argued.

I smiled, moving so I was straddling him. My hands ran down his chest, and he sighed, and closed his eyes.

"Doctor said I could travel just fine," he breathed.

I didn't want to tell him that Julia had already informed me about his limited amount of traveling. Instead, I leaned forward, staring down at him, lazily smiling as I kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his nose . . .

His breathing quickened under my ministrations. I put my mouth right on his ear again, and spoke as seductively as I could manage.

"I can tell when you're lying, too."

* * *

We left the house around five that evening; Julia departed about the same time. We agreed to be back at nine, after she gave us directions the dancing place.

I had to admit, the long, pretty red dress made me feel beautiful and confident. Well, the way Vaughn's eyes lingered on my body didn't hurt, either.

I borrowed a pair of Julia's recently bought shoes, after promising over and over again not to harm them in any way. When we were finally in the cab, I was nearly bouncing with excitement.

For the first time in days, I pushed Claire, Megan, and Marissa out of my mind. This evening was about having fun, letting loose and acting silly. Vaughn seemed to realize that, too, because his rare smiles came more often than usual, and he wasn't quite as reserved.

He complimented me about a thousand times on the dress, and received a very firm rule from the cab driver about how groping was not allowed in his vehicle.

Giggling, I pushed him away slightly to stare out the window. For the first time in ages, I admitted to myself that the city could be entertaining and exciting, if given the chance. In a huge one like this, one could never run out of things to do, places to go.

The bright, flashy lights – usually so obnoxious to me – now seemed like invitations, encouragements to have fun and act carefree. They promised me a good time, with no strings of angst or drama attached.

When we pulled up to the building, it was just as marvelous as Julia said; the ballroom was exquisite, with the highest ceiling and the most delicate, gorgeous chandelier. The music was smooth and perfect, sometimes fast, sometimes slow.

I turned to Vaughn – once again admiring his appearance in the tuxedo – and took his hand. And the evening was everything I hoped it would be; we danced around like the happiest people in the world, like peace, love and joy were the only constant emotions in our minds.

Vaughn laughed louder than I'd ever heard before, and we twirled around the dance floor so often _I _was the one getting dizzy. When a slow song came on, we stared at each other with lovesick eyes, and I relished the feeling of his arms around me so tightly.

I loved knowing we would always be together.

That I was his, and he was mine.

Occasionally, during a slow song, he would murmur "I love you" in my ear, and my stomach would flutter like I was hearing it for the very first time. When eight thirty came, we both reluctantly realized it was time to go.

It was probably best, anyway – Vaughn was swaying on his feet a little, and was beginning to look paler than usual. Taking his hand, I led him outside, and called another cab. I leaned against him, once inside.

"That was fun."

"Very," he agreed, "I suppose the city does have its perks."

"Sometimes," I grudgingly allowed.

"Maybe we should come back one day and do it again."

I laughed. "Not anytime soon. Home sounds good right about now."

"I could travel, you know," he said.

"Don't ruin the moment, Vaughn," I sighed, "You're supposed to stay put."

He sighed, too, irritated, but he thankfully didn't argue.

I sat there quietly for the rest of the drive, enjoying the moment. When we got out of the cab, no lights were on in the house. Julia, predictably, was not back yet. She'd probably found some incredible perfume sale at Macey's . . .

I smiled. Because I was nothing but happy for her.

I really hoped she didn't have her wedding until I got back, though it seemed selfish to ask someone to delay such an important occasion. Yet another thing I would owe Julia forever for. I could not ask for a better friend.

Vaughn rolled his eyes his cousin's lack of punctuality, but it was a fond gesture. Though the two cousins were always bickering, and Julia was much more affectionate than Vaughn, it was sometimes clear that he loved her, too. I adored those moments.

"I hope she's not too late," I said, as we went inside.

I flipped on the hallway light and yawned hugely. "I'm too tired to wait up for her."

"Too tired for _other _things?" His voice was laced with implications.

I laughed, and took his hand. "Maybe not . . ."

We went upstairs, and I excused myself to the bathroom for a moment. I rubbed at my eyes, trying to wipe the drowsiness away. I approached the wide white door, my feet dragging on the floor slightly.

I reached out, pushed it open, and turned on the light. I squinted for a second, getting accustomed the bright light. Everything seemed to be normal; until I caught sight of the mirror. The feeling of fear I had gotten far too used to invaded my mind, sped up my heart, until I was sure it was simply beating _too _quickly.

For a minute, I simply stared at the mirror, too terrified to form coherent thoughts. When the thoughts did come, though, they were memories of yesterday. Of when I had been thinking in the Café, while my lungs were burning, considering my options and how best to treat this situation.

Two particular sentences came back to me, echoing in my mind like a ghastly curse, promising ultimate destruction.

_Was it only a matter of time before something worse happened to Vaughn and me? Something worse than tripping, food-poisoning and disturbing visitors? _

My eyes fell the sink, where a stick of Julia's brand-new lipstick lay, smeared and useless. Because someone had written with it, like a pen, across the huge, once perfectly polished mirror. And the answer to those two questions was painfully clear in my mind.

_Yes, it is._

Because, before, those small creepy events had been petrifying, but somehow easy to blow off. I could go on, because some small part of my mind was still hoping, praying, that it was all just pure coincidence.

That there was no one plotting against us, and it was only the city that was driving me insane. But I could no longer deny it; the evidence of something sinister was staring me in the face, a single word written on the mirror in cherry red lipstick.

_Die. _

**A/N: I'm insanely tired right now. Sigh. **

**Aw, most of you guys recognized New Moon. Sorry to non-Twilighters, but I have to put a bit of my love for the saga in the story somehow. ;)**

**My friend here on (and my collaboration partner for an upcoming story, called **_**Wings of Change), **_**wants to write an HM fic for Animal Parade, and she wants some help deciding on what pairing to center the story around. Her penname is Windragonwolf – go to her profile and vote which HM character you like the most, on her poll. It would be much appreciated. XD **

**Sorry to leave you with cliffhangers – but that's how a mystery works, you know? Thank you guys for your incredible comments. They are always so enjoyable to read – and please excuse me if I sometimes don't get a chance to reply to your review. But know that every word makes me grin like an idiot. :p **


	7. Pain

_7. Pain_

I don't know why Vaughn came rushing into the bathroom just minutes after my horrifying discovery.

But, then again, I wasn't in control of my brain. Maybe I had screamed or shrieked out loud – it was very possible. Either way, I was glad he showed up, because he was just in time to catch me when my knees gave out and I started falling backwards.

I forced my lips to form words, but my voice didn't sound like my own when I finally spoke. Fear distorted it, making it shrill and ugly.

My hand rose slowly, and I pointed to the haunting message smeared on the glass.

"Die."

Vaughn's eyes were searching my face so intently, it took several minutes for him to realize what was frightening me, to register the message. But then he _did _see it, and he reacted quite differently than I did.

He simply froze, and stared, his grip on me tightening. We just stood there, soaking in the meaning of this word. It was so simple, so clear . . .

Just one word.

Yet it inspired more fear in me than a hundred page essay. My mouth was dry, my dinner was threatening to reappear, and my knees showed no signs of ever working again. Behind the fear, though, there was another emotion, and this one was entirely unexpected.

Certainty.

Suddenly there was no doubt in my mind as to who was behind this appalling incident. A face appeared in my mind, so clear it was like she was standing right in front of me, staring with those hard, disturbing blue eyes.

Megan.

I didn't have any proof whatsoever, so logically it was wrong to blame her. But this feeling wasn't logical, and it wasn't rational. It was something I knew in my gut, a conviction that simply could not be incorrect.

There was no reason behind this attack, yet it was her. There was no one else it could be. Vaughn's voice rang out through the room, shattering the silence and bouncing around in my skull like knives.

"What the hell is this?"

His question didn't sound like it was directed at me, though I was the only one here. He started at the glass, gritting his teeth.

"What the hell is this?" He repeated again, still not looking for an answer.

After a minute, I could feel him trembling with rage. I didn't believe he was merely angry, though; surely he was frightened too. But it was just like him not to show it. He reached out a hand and rubbed a finger on the glass, right over the D.

He stared at the lipstick on his index finger, like it was the vilest substance on earth. I didn't anticipate trying to reason with him when he was this angry, but it had to be done. I suddenly realized how very foolish I had been to keep the towel incident from him.

Being put in terrible danger – danger I was only now beginning to comprehend the realness of – was not worth this. I could not keep this from him, just to avoid a heated conversation.

We couldn't just go on like everything was fine – because it wasn't. No, things had gone from good, to bad, to terrible, to downright terrifying. I managed to speak again.

"Vaughn, I have to tell you something," I whispered, "But I don't want to talk in this room."

His head whipped around, and he stared with hard, penetrating eyes. His voice was a low growl.

"What?"

I spun and walked out of the room, knowing he would follow. Once we reached the bedroom, I sunk down to the floor and sighed.

"Remember the day Julia said I was acting crazy? Because I was in such a hurry to get back to the house?"

I peeked up at his expression, surprised to see that he didn't seem quite as angry as before. He dropped down to his knees, so that we were seeing eye to eye. I turned my head, not wanting to look at him.

"Yes," he said.

I took a deep breath. And then I recounted the day of his doctor's appointment, the day I'd gone out for a book and come home to a stranger in the house. I told him about the towel thing, and how I'd sprinted out of the house and to a Café. I spoke about how terrified I was that something might have happened to him or Julia by the time I got back.

"I think it was Megan," I finished quietly, "Not just then, but now . . . I think she wrote that word on the mirror."

He stared at me for a long time, unfathomable. And then he sighed, closing his eyes and laying a palm on the wall.

His voice was shaky with anger and exasperation. "Why didn't you tell me before, Chelsea?"

"I . . . I didn't want to upset you," I muttered, realizing what a lame excuse this was. "I didn't think that . . . it would go this far. I sort of hoped it was just a regular robber, trying to scare me off, but now . . . I can't deny the seriousness of this situation."

My tone was solemn and flat. Whatever was happening to us, whatever someone – Megan – was trying to do . . . it was real.

This was no game.

If she wasn't bluffing, if she was capable of carrying out her message, if either of us were in the wrong place at the wrong time . . . we would die. It suddenly infuriated me that I didn't even know the reason.

Why did she hate us so badly? What could we possibly have done? Was she merely insane? A psycho that focused on someone, made up reasons in their victim's deaths, and then carried out the plan? Was that all this was? For some reason, I didn't think so.

While I was almost certain Megan was insane, she didn't seem like the type to kill for non-existent reasons. So, what then?

"Chelsea, I can't believe you didn't tell me. First the poison, then breaking into the goddamned house, and now this . . ."

"I think she's serious, Vaughn," I said, my heart constricting with the worst kind of fear. "I think she really wants us to die."

"Why?"

The word hung ominously in the air for a long time, each of us desperately trying to come up with the answer. But, of course, we found none.

There was a huge piece of this demented puzzle that we were missing, something only Megan knew. Her motives were unknown, and they would stay that way unless she voiced them aloud.

I shuddered, knowing how close she would have to be for that to happen. Suddenly it was not so difficult to think her capable of murder. Of course I'd only known her for a very brief period of time, but someone with such a sinister smile could never be good.

Why didn't I see it? Despair momentarily paralyzed me, and I simply stayed on the floor, staring blankly at nothing. Vaughn had different ways of dealing with his frustrations.

He jerked himself upright and startling throwing random items around the room.

Pictures, books, and pillows . . . whatever he could get his hands on. The miscellaneous items crashed into the wall; the noise only seemed to spur him on. His hand curled around the television remote, and he hurled it at a decorative vase in the corner.

It shattered into pieces, scattering across the floor in hopelessly tiny shards. No amount of glue would ever hold it together again. Through his temper fit, a stream of vulgar curses left his lips; he said a few words I had no idea existed.

Finally, when everything in the room was out of place and several things were broken, battered or torn, he seemed to calm down. His anger disappeared, replaced by sadness so great it shriveled my heart into tiny wisps of nothingness.

I crawled over to where he now sat, staring at the wall, as I had. Tears slipped from my eyes. I wanted him to hold me in his arms. I didn't want him to say that everything was alright, that it was all just some vivid nightmare – I didn't want to be lied to. And yet that's exactly what I'd done to him.

Deceit is such a nasty, cruel thing.

Sometimes forgiveness doesn't come so easily.

"Vaughn, I'm so sorry," I moaned, "It was so stupid to keep it to myself. I was an idiot . . ."

He sighed, and then his sad eyes met mine. Then he leaned forward to wrap his arms around me, in exactly the comforting gesture I wanted but didn't deserve. I clutched him so tightly – like if I let go he would be taken away from me, never to return.

Like death itself was creeping up on us, haunting our minds and stealing our breath.

I shuddered violently against his chest, and brutal determination jolted through my veins unexpectedly. No. Nothing was going to happen to either of us. Fate couldn't be so cruel, not after we'd just started to put the past behind us, not when the future had seemed to bright and happy.

Not after we'd finally gotten married, made love, and began planning our lives together. No matter how twisted Megan was, her resolve was suddenly weaker than mine.

"You're not an idiot, Chelsea," Vaughn said, though the exasperation was still clear in his voice.

I sighed, because, though I knew I was not worthy of his assurance, his words still found their way into my rapidly beating heart, and it calmed a little. I was not an idiot – I had only been trying to do what I thought was best at the time . . . but that was then, and this is now.

I hated that we were having to deal with a crazy madwoman, I hated that we'd run into Claire, and the obligation I now felt towards her.

I hated how I would have to lie to Vaughn again about what I was going to tell her, and I hated how physically weak he was now, because of some damned South American poison.

A tear leaked from the corner of my eye, but I was quick to wipe it away.

"Why?" I whispered again. "Why is this happening to us?"

"Because that's just how it'll always be," Vaughn said, his voice as low as mine, but somehow even more bleak.

The anger had disappeared, and his real emotions were made known. The emotion I hated the most: emptiness. I felt rough, long fingers under my chin, pulling it up so I was looking at him.

"I'm not meant to have a happy future, Chelsea. For a while, it seemed like I was wrong, but now . . ."

"Ugh," I moaned, trying to jerk my chin away. He held it tight, somber and silent.

"Vaughn, stop being dramatic," I hissed, "That's _not_ why this is happening. That I am sure of."

"What else could it be?" he wondered, still desolate.

"I don't know," I said, "I don't. I _do _know that we should get a different house."

"Why? She found us once – she'll do it again. We should get the police."

"For what?" I snapped. "So they can tell us that someone broke into the house and wrote on the mirror? So we can say we have this vague suspicion that a woman we met – and have had next to no previous connections to – wants to kill us for unknown reasons?"

He heaved a sigh. "We should go back to the Islands."

"What if she followed us there, too, Vaughn?" I whispered, and the pain and fear was suddenly back, full-scale. "What if she follows and starts hurting people we love?"

I had to hold back tears again as images of people started flashing through my head: Mirabelle, Eliza, Gannon, Will, Charlie, Natalie, Mark . . . and every other resident I'd grown to think of as family.

He shook his head. "We'll go at night. We'll make sure no one follows."

"And what if the trip makes you pass out on the dock, or the boat, Vaughn? How would that benefit me? What if you drop dead the second we step on the Islands?" I flinched at my own words; the image was so completely terrible that the tears won, and I was sobbing again.

"I can't lose you," I blubbered.

My voice was so choked it was almost incoherent. He was suddenly kissing me, without warning, his lips hard and rough.

"That won't happen," he promised lowly, "No matter what demented person haunts us, I swear . . . nothing will happen to either of us."

I nodded, slowly. And then I let him hold me for another few minutes while I calmed down.

Finally, when I could be rational again, I said, "I don't want Julia to know about any of this."

"Why? It's nothing she couldn't handle."

"It's stress she doesn't need – I don't want to say anything unless it becomes absolutely necessary. She's getting married, Vaughn. She should be happy right now." If nothing else, I could give her that.

He sighed, relenting with grace. "Alright, Chelsea."

Without another word, I stood, and walked into the bathroom to get rid of the atrocious word written on the mirror.

* * *

The friend of Mirabelle's actually rented quite a few houses – one was located on the other side of town, though it looked very much like the previous one. We left our rented home that night, after I begged the friend to relocate us for about an hour – he was crabby, because apparently he went to sleep around eight thirty every night.

Even more so after we explained that there were a few things in the house that had been broken – paying for those things was sure _fun._ When Julia arrived home – a half hour after the set time, she seemed alarmed by mine and Vaughn's appearance.

We tried hard to hide our fear, our bleakness, but Julia knew both of us very well. After we told her of our moving news, she was even more suspicious.

"Why are we going?" she asked, as we packed. "There's nothing wrong with this house."

"Yes, there is," I said, my voice detached, like it wasn't my own. "I was up in the attic yesterday. There are rats."

"Rats?" Julia's brow furrowed.

"Yes," Vaughn said, his tone sharp. "I will not share a home with such a disgusting . . . _animal._"

I paused on the shirt I was folding, because his voice was so full of hatred that I knew he was discreetly referring to Megan.

Julia frowned, because the idea of sharp-toothed rodents scurrying around upstairs probably upset her quite a bit.

"I guess I don't like that, either," she said, "But . . . do we have to leave tonight? I'm pretty tired."

"Yes," Vaughn snapped fiercely, "Tonight."

"Don't talk to me like that," she snapped right back at him.

He turned to her, pure fury blazing in his eyes. He leaned down, and nearly spat in her face.

"Pack your _damned _things, _Julia._"

I put a hand on his arm, pleading silently with my eyes for him to stop. Lying to Julia was bad enough for me – it tugged at my heart and pained my soul – but adding insult to injury wasn't going to help things.

Hurt flashed through Julia's eyes, but her cousin's harsh words did their job. She turned, and walked into her room, presumably to pack.

"Please don't to that," I whispered, "Please don't talk to her like that. She doesn't deserve it, and it's only going to make her suspicious."

He glared at the wall for a few seconds, and then he heaved a sigh.

"I know she doesn't. I'll apologize later, alright? Let's focus on getting out of here."

I nodded, and we continued to pack.

We settled into the second house quickly.

Julia went silently to her room, never meeting our eyes on the way. Again, my heart felt like it was being squeezed; it threatened to burst. If it had been any other time, any other place, under different circumstances, I would follow her.

I would comfort her, apologize for our behavior, and I would tell her everything that was going on. Because she was Julia. She was my very best friend, and I could tell her anything. And now I couldn't.

To her, this probably felt like the ultimate form of betrayal.

Saddened, I looked away, to where Vaughn was staring out the window. His eyes probed the shadows, looking for hideous, haunting figures. Like the whole world was against us, and anything could come slinking out of the darkness, with shady intentions.

Shuddering, I wrapped my arms around his waist, and stared out at the lawn.

"We should be safe here," I said, though of course I didn't believe it. And he knew it. Somehow, though, just saying the words made me feel a little better.

"Sure," he agreed.

I sighed a little, relieved he didn't argue. For the time being, we both needed to relax. Anymore stress this evening, and I would surely die. I leaned forward, and pulled the curtains closed.

"Let's go up," I said, taking his hand. "Nothing else will happen tonight."

He nodded, but I noticed how close he held me as we went up the stairs. We closed the bedroom door behind us. I pulled my shirt over my head, took my pants off, and changed into soft, comforting pajamas.

He simply undid the buttons on his shirt, undid his belt, stepped out of his pants, and flopped onto the bed. It was identical to that of the previous house. He held me close, and whispered in my ear.

"I love you, Chelsea."

"I know," I sighed, "I love you, too."

"Nothing will ever happen to you," he repeated, "Ever."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes. I can."

His sincerity was nice to hear. His hand was suddenly moving up my shirt. I blinked, surprised he still wanted sex, even after all this. His mouth was on mine, roughly, eagerly.

After a minute or so, we were both gasping raggedly, and his eyes were wild with need. Surprisingly, it wasn't difficult so feel the same way. I didn't just want him - I _needed_ him. Passionately.

And this was a distraction from the current horror movie that was our lives. I whimpered, because his hands on me felt so amazing.

When we came together, and my coherent thoughts were shattered, it felt like nothing on earth mattered besides the two of us. Though this thought was entirely untrue, the falseness of the feeling was masked by my ecstasy. Yes.

This was the very best kind of distraction.

* * *

Julia ignored us all morning.

I didn't blame her. But the worst thing was that, whenever I met her eyes, the hurt was there, silently accusing me. But I said nothing, told her nothing, which only increased the friction between us.

As the day progressed, she finally said, "I'm going back to the Islands pretty soon, Chelsea."

"Okay," I mumbled indifferently.

Around noon, when Vaughn and I were sitting silently in the living room, both of us lost in our thoughts, I said, "You should go apologize to Julia."

He sighed. "I guess."

I was glad he didn't argue – maybe he felt genuinely guilty for his inconsiderate words. He went upstairs, and I wished I could hear their conversation, but eavesdropping would only make me feel lower than I already felt.

When he came back down, and I asked how it went, he merely shrugged and said she accepted his apology.

Something told me that heartfelt emotion was missing from their little talk.

I told Vaughn I wanted to go for a walk around three.

"I won't be long," I said, "I need some alone time."

"Then go in another room," he said.

I shook my head. "It's not the same."

"Please, Chelsea, just stay here."

"Nothing will happen, Vaughn," I sighed.

Honestly, though, I was so depressed at the moment, that an unpleasant encounter with Megan didn't seem all too bad. Maybe I could rip off those perfect bright red lips, or gouge out those unforgiving blue eyes before I went down.

Or, better yet, the hard, black stone she called a heart.

"Please," Vaughn repeated.

Sighing, I went up to our room, and tried to read my book. Vaughn had ripped the cover a little – the stem of the flower was torn through. I frowned, though secretly it pleased me to be annoyed by something so trivial.

Perhaps I was going insane. I attempted to read, but I was met with the main character's – Bella's – long period of depression.

Though hers was probably worse than mine, it was still irritating. I wanted something to cheer me up, not drag me down.

And then, after that, I read through long periods of her getting to know some guy who was going to turn out to be a werewolf – Jacob. I liked him, but I was annoyed as the book progressed, because Edward still hadn't showed up. Impatient, I skimmed the pages.

When I found his name, though, it was surrounded by names I didn't recognize. I sighed, and set the book down.

I still had an agonizing amount of pages to get through before Edward's return, and with the way Bella was starting to talk about Jacob, I could guess that this story was going to turn into a love triangle. How annoying. Why couldn't people just stick to one person in books nowadays?

Besides, I liked Edward the best.

I sighed, and looked out the window. I wanted to go out for a walk. No matter how much Vaughn disapproved, it was just something I had to do. It was difficult to convince him, but when I did, he made me promise not to be gone too long.

In a wry attempt at humor, I said, "Okay, Dad."

He wrinkled his nose. "I am nothing like either of your parents, thank you very much."

I laughed, and it was actually real. "Still don't like my mom?"

"Not even a little bit."

"I'm sure the feeling is mutual." I kissed his cheek, and then I left.

I wasn't gone long – paranoia clouded my mind, and I found that I was glancing over my shoulder every ten feet. Every sound made me jump, made my heart break into a sprint, made my breathing quicken.

Annoyed by these reactions, I returned to the house much sooner than I originally intended. Julia wasn't downstairs, and when I paused at her door, I didn't hear any sounds from the other side, either. She must have gone out.

Vaughn and mine's door was wide open, so I walked inside. He was leaning over something on the bed, and when I approached, I saw it was a suitcase. He was taking the clothes from the dresser and putting them in the case.

"What are you doing?" I asked, as if the answer wasn't before my eyes.

"Packing," he said, not even glancing up at me.

"Why?" My voice was calm.

"Because we need to go home."

"Vaughn, we've already been over this."

"I can travel anywhere I damned well please. No godforsaken poison is going to screw with me," he snapped, "And if she tries to follow us to the Islands . . ."

He left the sentence hanging, so I finished it for him.

My voice was hard and icy. "What? You gonna kill her?"

He stared at me for a long time, his hands frozen. When he spoke, he sounded sure.

"Maybe."

"Whatever, Vaughn," I growled, pulling a shirt from the suitcase, and tossing to the floor. "That's crap, and you know it."

"Maybe it isn't," he argued stubbornly.

I pitched a pair of jeans across the room. "We're staying here."

"No. We aren't."

He calmly reached into the dresser and dropped a pair of my underwear into the suitcase.

My blood was boiling, and I was seeing red. The stress over the past two days had been too much – and now I'd finally reached the end of my patience. We had to stay here. To protect the other Islanders. Because of his condition.

Why couldn't he be reasonable, and see that? I shoved myself in between him and the suitcase, grabbing random handfuls of clothes and throwing them everywhere.

"Yes. We _are._"

Vaughn's hands came up to pin my wrists to my sides. "Chelsea. Calm down."

I struggled until he finally let go of my wrists.

"Oh, you're the only one who can throw a fit?" I snapped.

Just for the hell of it, I continued to pitch clothes everywhere; when that wasn't enough I bashed a picture frame, ripped up a phone book, and punched the wall, effectively bruising my knuckles. When the all-consuming anger finally ebbed, I stood there, breathing hard.

"Are you done?" Vaughn frowned.

"Yeah," I said.

"Good. Now help me pack."

"No."

"Damn it, Chelsea. Don't you understand? That woman is _crazy. _And she wants to kill us. Do you think that I'm going to let you hang around, and wait for it to happen?" He fired off.

He sounded so angry, but I could understand why. But that didn't change my resolve on staying.

"I'm not going."

He threw up his hands in frustration, spun around, and punched the wall, just like I had. The only difference was, his left a gaping hole.

"Great," I said, "We're going to have to pay for that."

He ignored me, going off on his own little temper rant. He proceeded to break and tear things, much like before. I made sure to hide my book. When he was done, he was nearly seething with anger. But then he started to sway, as if suddenly losing his balance.

He sunk to his knees, and clutched his head, moaning in pain. I crawled over to where he was, stroking his hair.

"I told you," I whispered, "You can't travel. You're too weak."

"Thanks," he grumbled.

He moaned again, and I tried rubbing his temples. I hated his pain – it was like my own, only worse.

"Get into bed," I said, "I'll get you an aspirin."

He didn't argue, thankfully. After swallowing the pills, he stared up the ceiling.

"Please understand," I whispered, "We can't go. Please, please, Vaughn, don't be angry. I love you so much, and I need you to understand right now."

A long silence passed, but eventually he broke down. "Fine," he said, "But just for a little while longer."

"I want to go home, too, you know. I miss the animals, and the open space, and the people."

"I know."

"It won't be too long," I promised, reaching out to clutch his hand.

Another silence. Then, his expression softened, and he pointed to suitcase, the one he hadn't gotten the chance to pack up.

"Go get that for me."

I pursed my lips.

"I just want to get something," he insisted.

Sighing, I got up, and maneuvered my way through the mostly destroyed room. We'd have to pay for this, too. Groaning inwardly, I dragged his suitcase over to the bed, over random pieces of clothes and shattered bits of miscellaneous materials.

He pulled the suitcase up onto his lap, unzipped it, and started rummaging. I waited, unsure of what my face looked like. After about two minutes, Vaughn pulled something fairly large with black and white spots out of the case.

My brow furrowed, because I couldn't make out what it was. He smiled at me, and then turned it so I could see. After I studied it for three seconds and realized what it was, I grinned too, momentarily forgetting my gloomy mood.

I snickered, and took it from him, examining the small black eyes, the huge fluffy body and the tiny legs.

"When did you get this?" I asked, hugging the small stuffed cow to my chest. As a child, I adored stuffed animals.

"At the gift shop, that day of my doctor's appointment. With all the . . . _commotion _. . . I didn't remember it until now. But I thought you would like it."

I ran a finger over the soft material, and I hugged it tightly again. "I do. Thank you."

I placed it on the nightstand, right next to my book. Thankfully, neither of us had damaged it during our tantrums. I put a hand on his cheek.

"That was very sweet of you."

He glanced towards the window, blushing a little. I laughed, because he was cute when he was flustered.

After a moment of mental debate, he shrugged and said nonchalantly, "I guess."

I chuckled again, and then went to lie beside him. "If I'm going to live in this city for a few more days with tearing my hair out," I murmured, as his eyelids began to droop.

"You know what I'd really like to do? I'd like to drive a car. It's been forever since I've done that, and I remember it used to relax me. We could rent one . . ."

He yawned. "Okay."

I smiled, and then was quiet. Because he had fallen asleep.

* * *

I was serious about wanting the drive a car. Now that I allowed myself to think about it, the idea was very appealing. Obviously, I couldn't drive around on the Islands - I would barely be able to ride a horse, if I had one.

The Islanders were just too scattered. I remembered, the day I got my license, my mother had gotten me a bright, flashy convertible. Of course, I was completely in love with it. But after I moved away, they got rid of it, because they had other sports cars, and mine was just taking up space.

I had been a bit sad, knowing it was gone, because I'd had fun with it. Just another sacrifice that had to be made to move to a place my parents wouldn't live on if it was deemed the only safe placed during an apocalypse.

In the morning, the three of us were very silent. Julia was a little more talkative, but she never tried to seek me out for private conversation. I guess she figured that when I was ready to talk, I would be the one looking for her.

At one point, I reached out without any words, and took her hand. I pleaded for understanding silently. She sighed, because she knew I wasn't going to talk any time soon. But at least she didn't snatch her hand away.

Her words were civil, brusque and polite. Nothing more.

When her lack of response had driven me beyond irritation, I said, "We should all go out today. No point in lying around here."

Vaughn's eyes darted to the window, narrowing suspiciously. "I don't think so, Chelsea."

"It will do us good," I promised, "Come on."

"You two go," Julia said, "I have some reading to catch up on, and I'd like to call Elliot again."

Discomfort welled up in my stomach. I didn't like the idea of her being in the house alone. "Please come with us, Jules. It won't be for long," I persuaded.

She shook her head. "No. I don't want to."

With that, she turned, and headed up the stairs.

Vaughn pulled the front door open, and waited for me to go through. I hesitated, glancing towards the stairs.

"I don't want Julia home alone, Vaughn."

"She'll be fine, I swear," he said.

I gave him a hard look.

He held up his hands defensively. "I wouldn't leave her alone if I thought she might get hurt. But she won't."

I continued to linger, debating for a long moment. Finally, I sighed, and moved out the door. He closed it behind us, and we started walking down the driveway.

"Why do you think she'll be fine?" I finally asked.

Vaughn frowned. "Because she's not the one Megan wants."

"Who _does _she want?" I whispered, "You or me?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I hope it's me."

My eyes widened, and I was horrified. "What? No. It should be me."

"Of course not, Chelsea," he said. He squeezed my hand, and glanced around warily.

"Never."

* * *

"Cities are too damn big," Vaughn grumbled unhappily.

We'd tried, unsuccessfully, to find a rental dealership for a little over an hour. His annoyance only amused me, though. For the first time in a little while, I was feeling somewhat normal. I never wanted it to end.

Living in fear wasn't easy. It was barely living. Because today was Saturday, we were surrounded by enormous masses of people, some tourists like us.

I would be lying if I said it wasn't irritating to barely have any breathing room. We walked close the buildings crammed tightly together on our right, so I could see into the windows and see if there was anything worth my time inside.

As we passed some store that sold antiques, I actually did see something.

Or, rather, some_one. _

I stopped instantly, no doubt aggravating the people walking behind me. Vaughn followed my gaze as I stared into the shop's window.

When he saw who I saw, his jaw clenched, and he growled, "No."

I turned my head, surprised at his reaction.

"I just want to go say hello," I murmured, "I didn't even realize she was back in the city."

His eyes narrowed. "How did you know she left town?"

"She told me."

"Oh. And what _else _have you discussed with her without my knowledge?"

I frowned at him, and pulled my hand out of his.

"Are you going to be a jerk about this again?" I asked, "Because, if you are, maybe you should stay here while I go say hello."

If I hurried, if he stayed here, maybe I could tell her what I'd been planning to before the madness broke out. But, of course, he shook his head, foiling my scheme.

"I'll come with you."

I hated the way he was looking at me; warily, like I was going to betray him at any second. He knew what I wanted to tell her. And he was quite determined to make sure it didn't happen. I'd hoped, in vain, that he would be over his aversion to telling her about Marissa's death.

But, of course, that hadn't happened. A few bells jiggled as the door open, and a few people looked up. Claire wasn't among them. We moved quietly up to where she stood, examining a beautiful figurine.

When she felt my hand on her shoulder, she jumped, and nearly dropped the antique. The cashier behind the counter glared at her, but Claire ignored it and whirled around.

When she saw who she was staring at, her mouth fell open.

"Hi," I said, unsure of how else to greet Marissa's previous best friend.

Claire examined both me and Vaughn – who was glaring – for a minute, like she couldn't believe her eyes.

Finally, she set the figurine down, and said, "I wasn't sure if you two were still in the city. When I called the hotel, the man said you'd already left."

I pursed my lips, cursing my stupidity. Of course Claire wouldn't have been able to contact us once we left the hotel; because that was the only phone number I had given her. All this time I had been irritated that she didn't called, and all along, _I _was the idiot.

"We're renting a small house," I said, "For a few more days."

"Oh." The same hope was lightening Claire's eyes now. She still yearned for information. "How . . . how are you doing, Chelsea?"

"We're fine, thank you," Vaughn said, before I could. His voice was cold and harsh.

Claire shuddered a little, and then addressed me again. "Chelsea, you're leaving soon, right? Could we get together just once more before you go?"

I could tell that, by the way she looked at me, she was begging me silently to come alone. I didn't glance at Vaughn; I knew what I would see. Anger, disapproval, suspicion, sadness . . . the same emotions that always seemed to cling to him when his sister was mentioned.

"Yes," I said, "I would like that, Claire. I'm sorry about the telephone thing."

She shrugged. "That's alright. You're here now."

"Not for long," Vaughn interjected.

"How about tomorrow?" I asked, ignoring him completely, "Around three?"

"Sure. You still have my address, right?" Claire asked anxiously.

I nodded. "Yes."

"Okay. Three it is, then. I look forward to talking with you, Chelsea."

Vaughn muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, "I'm sure you do."

I ignored him again. "Yeah, me too, Claire."

I stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. Though I'd known her for such a short time, and she was obviously only interested in information, she still seemed like a very kind, gentle person. Maybe that was part of the reason I got so angry with Vaughn for being rude to her. She seemed surprised by the gesture, but after a minute she returned the hug, just a bit awkwardly.

"See you then," I said.

Vaughn took my hand and nearly pulled me to the door. Just as he was opening it, though, I turned again.

"Claire?"

"Yes, Chelsea?"

"Do you happen to know where we could find a car rental place?"

She approached us again. "Yes, I do."

She wrote down an address on a piece of paper and handed it to me. "This place always has pretty good cars, and the owner is pretty reasonable. I recommend it highly."

"Cool." I put it in my pocket, and then Vaughn pulled me out of the shop.

* * *

"I'm going to come with you tomorrow," Vaughn said, as we walked to the dealership.

I sighed, because I knew his reasoning, even if he wouldn't say it out loud.

"I wish you wouldn't," I said honestly.

"Why?" he challenged. The word came out through his teeth.

"Because," I sighed, looking away.

Vaughn glared ahead of us; I could make out long lines of displayed cars, most of which seemed nice enough.

"You don't have to say it, Chelsea," he said, "I know why."

"No. You don't," I lied.

He shook his head, and muttering something too low for me to make out.

"Why can't you be reasonable about this?" I asked.

"I am. It's my business – and yours, since you married me – and I don't want to share the information with just anybody."

"You don't think she has a right to know?"

"No. I don't."

I sighed again, because I knew I wasn't going convince him about this. Would anything? I could only pray I somehow got to be alone with Claire tomorrow. And, if I didn't, well, at least I tried. I wasn't a bad person.

I had tried, and it didn't work. My homesickness and fear overpowered whatever obligation I felt towards Marissa's friend. And I was sick of arguing with Vaughn about it. Thankfully, we both dropped the subject once we went into the dealership.

We browsed through the selection for a while, until we were approached by a middle-aged balding man who asked if he could assist us. With his help, we ended up picking out a little black car, possibly a Toyota.

I didn't really pay much attention to that sort of thing. I would have preferred the yellow bug on the far end of the lot, but Vaughn flat-out refused.

"I will not drive something yellow," he said, "I will not do it."

Rolling my eyes at his immaturity, I relented, and let him get the black car with the darkly tinted windows. We signed some papers, purchased insurance, paid him some money, and then we were finally free to go.

Getting behind the wheel of a car felt strange, but driving was like riding a bike; you never forgot how. After about ten minutes, it seemed like the easiest thing in the world, and I truly enjoyed it.

"Do you like driving, Vaughn?" I asked, hoping his sour moon had passed.

Thankfully, he sounded fairly normal when he answered. "Not really."

I smiled as we came to a stop in front of our rented home.

"I'll never understand you cowboys."

He snorted, amused by my statement. "I hope for your sake you've gained some knowledge of them, what with being married to one and all."

I smiled, and leaned over to kiss him.

"Maybe a little."

* * *

Vaughn was irritable the next day, and I knew it was largely because of our plans for this afternoon. The other reason was the obvious; we were being semi-stalked by a crazy woman with manicured nails and shiny hair.

Julia actually seemed a little happy today; apparently she planned to leave for the Islands tomorrow, and she was excited about seeing Elliot.

"I've missed him like crazy," she said.

"You're not going to have the wedding till we get back, right?" I checked, "I promise it'll only be a few more days."

"Of course I'll wait, Chelsea. I can't have the ceremony without my maid of honor."

Somehow, hearing her say those words was a relief. We were still best friends. We still loved each other.

I hugged her. "Exactly."

At close to two thirty, I mentioned to Vaughn that we should probably get going.

"Unless you don't want to come . . ." I hedged.

"I do," he snapped.

He stomped out to the driveway and got into the passenger door.

"What's with him?" Julia asked.

I sighed. "He's just a little . . . upset today." "

Oh." Julia didn't press any farther. She knew she wouldn't get answers.

When I slid into the driver seat, I found his hand and brought it to my lips.

"I love you," I said.

He sighed, and I was surprised to see that there was much more sadness in his eyes than anger. It made my heart squeeze painfully.

"I love you, too," he told me softly.

He went back to staring out the window. Sighing, I started the car. Since we moved, Claire's apartment was on the other side of town, and I was very thankful we wouldn't have to walk all that way or pay cab fare.

I took the back roads, so we wouldn't run into any stoplights along the way; they got so annoying after a while. And anyway, it was less crowded. I was going around 50 miles per hour when something happened that made my heart stop and my throat tighten.

The dreaded fear I'd become far too acquainted with came rushing back, and very soon my breathing was ragged.

Vaughn noticed. "What's wrong, Chelsea?"

I couldn't answer him; my attention was elsewhere. Refusing to believe my terrifying discovery, my foot pressed down again on the brake pedal, with much more pressure than before. The car didn't slow – we blew past a stop sign.

"Why didn't you stop?" Vaughn asked, concerned. "Chelsea? Chelsea, what's wrong?"

Panic was threatening to overcome me, but I managed to say, "The brake. The brake isn't working, Vaughn!"

"What?" He leaned to the side, looking down towards my feet.

Again, I pushed on the pedal. And the car just kept on going.

_Why? _I moaned in my head, forcing my hands to stay on the wheel, to turn as the road curved to the right.

Why is this happening? The car was perfectly fine yesterday. Nothing could have happened. Unless . . . my hands fell off the wheel. Vaughn, his expression just as horrified as mine, grabbed it and started to steer for me.

"It's not working. We can't stop." He said it like he hoped saying the words would somehow reverse this situation. My mind wasn't on driving now, though – it was on a realization.

Unless someone had tampered with the car when we weren't looking.

Which would have been sometime last night, while we were sleeping soundly in our beds, praying the nightmare our lives had become would soon be over.

Would our wish never be fulfilled? My stomach turned, and my lunch threatened to come back up. Someone had cut the brake lines.

Because someone wanted us to die.

At that point in time, I couldn't honestly say what happened next. All I knew was that, eventually, without brakes to stop it, our shiny black car skidded off the road.

It happened so quickly, I barely had time to comprehend it. Barely had any time to feel the force of impact, the searing, mind-numbing _pain_ flooding instantly into my body.

There was no time to scream.

Because everything went black.

**A/N: Hi! It's been a while. But, I was having my house remodeled, and the computer had to come out. But my wi-fi is back, so updates should come at fairly regular intervals again. **

**Do you have theories about Megan? This is my first time writing this sort of thing, so I'd love to know how I'm doing so far. Thanks. **


	8. While you were sleeping

_8: While you were sleeping_

At first, nothing is clear.

Voices are muffled, footsteps echo in my ears, and there's a strange beeping noise located next to my left ear. At some point, I thought I felt fingers brush my cheek, light as a feather.

The only thing I'm sure of is that I'm lying down on something soft, and when my eyes open just a bit they are blinded by bright lights.

For a long time, I was quite convinced I was dead. Maybe that was better. I wouldn't have to deal with stress anymore. I could just drift through time and space, blissfully unaware of anything troubling.

For a moment, that was exactly what I wanted. But then my peaceful illusion was shattered, because I was becoming aware of painful aches all over my body.

There wasn't one finger, one toe, that wasn't screaming out in agony right now. I winced, and the muscles in my face protested.

I opened my eyes a crack again, and then recoiled when I was met with the same merciless light. It was then I sensed someone standing over me, and I felt fingers on my cheek.

A voice I recognized drifted down to meet my ears.

"Chelsea?"

A low moan of pain slipped through my lips. I couldn't be dead, could I? Dead people can't feel pain. They don't feel anything. That's always been what I believed. Unexpected, powerful frustration was suddenly rushing through me.

I didn't _want _to be alive.

Hadn't I just made my peace with death? And now that had been snatched away from me, replaced by sharp, stinging pains. My mouth was dry, and my limbs felt so heavy lifting them seemed like a herculean task.

My head didn't feel connected to my body; this whole experience was so disorienting I wanted to weep. Why couldn't I be dead?

Why, why, why?

And then voice I had totally forgotten about spoke to me again, and it was like a slap in the face.

"Chelsea? Wake up, Chelsea, please."

I breathed in a ragged gasp when my mind gave me a picture of who this voice belonged to; the picture was a face, a face I knew very well.

One that I had loved since high school, and then lost touch with for some time before a string of isolated Islands brought us back together.

And suddenly I was engulfed in guilt. How could I wish so dearly for death when the grief in Julia's voice was more sincere than anything I'd ever heard her say? How could I leave my very best friend? And so close to her wedding, too.

Shouldn't I stick around for her? My head lolled to the side, and I felt a few tears slip down my face sideways. Julia kept urging me to wake up, but I wasn't quite ready to do that yet. Memories were coming back to me now.

I had known that I'd been sad and anxious before, but I hadn't exactly known _why._ I cringed again when I thought of my last moments of awareness. I was in a car, going . . . somewhere.

That memory was hiding in the corner of my mind; I knew it would come back soon enough. As I was driving the car, the brake stopped working . . . Wait, no, it didn't _stop _working. At least, not for an unknown reason.

Someone had cut the brake lines, someone who meant to cause me harm . . . The car spun off the road . . . and everything was black after that. I woke up in this strange place with bright lights and irritating beeping noises.

Julia's fingers stoked my hair.

"Chelsea, you have to wake up," she continued, "What will Vaughn say if you don't?"

Her words brought with them a wave of sudden, intense panic. Vaughn. He was in the car with me when I was driving. What had happened to him? Was he alright?

Oh God, please, please let him be alright . . .

My body tensed into a rigid line as I recalled his look of panic when I'd said the brake wasn't working. I remembered him grabbing hold of the wheel when my hands slipped off it.

What if his fate was worse than mine? What if he was seriously injured in the accident? What if he, unlike me, never woke up to the comforting voice of a loved one? What if he never woke up at all?

What if the memory of him – frightened and panicked, is the last memory I'll have of him forever? As I was pondering these hideous questions, a small part of my mind became aware of the fact that the beeping – which had been slow and even before – was now going off wildly, keeping pace with my frantic heart.

Julia's hands fell away, and I missed their comfort. Suddenly, I realized that my urgent questions would never be answered unless I opened my eyes and found out where the hell I was.

I peeled back my eyelids – one of the only things that didn't hurt – and found myself staring at a strange, square box with a green line running through it. Next to that was a clear, long bag with cord connected to it.

My eyes traveled down the cord – and I gagged a little when I saw the end of it was a needle, which was currently embedded in my wrist, with clear tape over it keep it in place. The lights on the ceiling were still far too bright, and I avoided looking at them directly.

"Chelsea? Chelsea!" I heard Julia exclaim.

I glanced up and locked eyes with my friend. She grinned so broadly at me; it was like she'd won the lottery or something. She leaned down to wrap her arms around my shoulders, which were concealed by an itchy blue blanket. I whimpered a little at the contact.

She pulled back, embarrassment and concern evident in her expression. "Oh, I'm sorry, Chelsea. I'm just . . . glad to see you awake."

"How long have you been here?" I croaked. My voice was cracked and sore, like my mouth and lips. It didn't even sound like mine.

"A day," Julia said, "They made me stay in the waiting room for a while, because I wasn't immediate family . . . so I lied and told them I was your sister."

I forced a smile, though it felt like the last thing I should be doing.

"You pretty much are, Jules. Just not by blood."

"Nope." Julia grinned again. "More like sun."

I laughed at her reference to our home. Sunshine Islands. It seemed like I hadn't been there in years. What was scary beyond belief was knowing that my disorientation was making my memories of the place clouded and foggy, like I hadn't ever been there.

Like it was a figment of my imagination, a lost paradise I could never return to.

Bleakness and heartache was settling over me again, erasing whatever amusement I might have been feeling previously. Julia must have seen the panic coming in my eyes. She gathered both of my hands in hers and stared down at me with her wide, fearful eyes.

"Chelsea, it's okay. Everything's okay. Calm down."

"Calm down?" I repeated, my voice low and strange. "Nothing's okay, Julia. Not when you wake up in a hospital and everything on you hurts."

"I'm sorry," she said sympathetically.

I could hear the truth in her words; everyone could say that to me, but only a few would mean it. She drew in a deep breath, as if she was the one having a panic attack. Again, the thing I finally recognized as a heart monitor began beeping crazily.

Julia stared at it for a few seconds worriedly, and then looked down at me pleadingly. Realizing I wouldn't get answers out of her this way, I heaved a deep breath, and closed my eyes. Trying desperately to calm down.

I managed to slow my heart slightly, but not by much.

"Chelsea, what happened?" Julia asked me quietly.

I opened my eyes again. "I'm not sure," I said, just as softly, "We were driving in a car, and then the brakes weren't working . . . and we crashed."

Julia nodded. "A passerby called an ambulance, and they took you here. I was so terrified when the cops called the house and told me what happened . . ."

She shuddered. "Why were you even in a car? Why didn't you take a bus or something?"

I smiled a little, sheepishly. "It was an impulse," I admitted, "I really wanted to drive before going back to the Islands."

"But didn't you notice something was off when you left the dealership? Jeez, you could sue them for everything they've got . . ."

I shook my head, and winced. Because I was assaulted with memories of the one person that had caused me so much pain since arriving in the city. Megan.

"The brake lines were cut overnight, Julia," I sighed hopelessly, "There was nothing wrong with the car when we left the dealership."

She gasped. "But who . . . who would do that, Chelsea? And _why?_"

I shrugged. I couldn't tell her the truth – she didn't have to know. I could keep her away from the maniac stalking us. Besides, if Megan found out I told Julia about her, who was to say she wouldn't come after my friend?

When I spoke again, my lie came smoothly and easily. But inside, I felt a piece of myself shriveling up and dying. I had used deceit so much such coming to this city – it was like the very air was tainted with lies and pain now.

"I don't know, Julia. Kids, maybe?"

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she dropped to her knees, letting her head rest on the edge of my bed, her body shaking with sobs. Frantically, my hands shot out to stroke her hair, like she had with me.

"It's okay, Julia, it's okay. I'm just fine . . ."

At least, I hoped I was. But what if something happened to me in the accident that was irreversible? What if I had brain damage or internal bleeding or something so horrible I couldn't even put a name to it?

But then Vaughn's face was suddenly in my mind again, blocking out everything else. If he wasn't okay, then I wouldn't be, either. I would welcome death with open arms.

"Julia?" I whispered, ready to ask the question that would seal my fate forever.

She lifted her head, her cheeks tearstained, her eyes red and bloodshot. "Yeah?"

"How's Vaughn?"

Julia hesitated for a minute before answering, and the pause was so infuriating I wanted to lean forward and shake her. But the mere thought of sitting up was so agonizing I didn't even attempt it.

"He's okay," Julia finally said – promised. "He's actually in better shape than you are. Nothing to worry about, I swear. The doctors said that the two of you are actually very lucky."

Her voice broke twice.

"Then why are to so upset?" I asked lowly.

Relief was rolling through me, making the pain disappear for a few seconds and allowing me to float on clouds of bliss. Julia sobbed again, the cries shaking her body. When she spoke again, her voice was so blubbered I had to strain to understand it.

"I'm just so happy you're alright, Chelsea."

My eyes narrowed. Unlike me, my best friend was never any good at lying. Whenever we did something sneaky in school and a teacher was suspicious, Julia was always the one they asked about it. Because she couldn't lie believably to save her soul.

I could tell she was trying very hard to sound convincing now, but I saw through her all the same.

"Julia. What's really wrong?"

She looked away, as if unable to stare into my eyes any longer.

"I don't think I should say," She whispered, "If . . . if the news is bad, maybe it's better you don't know about it at all."

Panic was taking over me again. If both Vaughn and I were alright, then what was there to be upset about?

"Is Elliot alright? Mirabelle?"

"Oh, yes. This has nothing to do with them, Chelsea."

"Then what's _wrong?_" I snapped harshly.

My irritation was speeding up the heart monitor again.

"I'll tell you later," Julia insisted, "What you need to do now is rest."

I sighed, giving up. I knew what I needed to; that we were alright. I relaxed into the bed again, and started taking deep, soothing breaths.

"When can I see Vaughn?" I asked, "Why isn't he here with me?"

Julia shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't put you in different rooms."

"What _is _wrong with me?" I yawned. "Anything?"

"Well, of course." Julia chuckled. The sound was bleak.

"You can't walk away from a car accident unscratched. Both of you have a lot of cuts and bruises everywhere, and something cut into your thigh – it didn't need stitches thankfully, but it's bandaged heavily. It's lucky the car wound up in a ditch, and you weren't going very fast."

I exhaled loudly. "Lucky. Yeah."

Julia squeezed my fingers and smiled. Just then, the door swung open, and a tall woman in white walked in. A nurse, I realized. She smiled nicely at me and walked into the room. My eyes widened as I recognized the bright red hair.

"Louise?" I asked.

She looked a bit surprise by my use of her name – I suddenly wondered if she even remembered me.

"Have we met?" she asked, examining my face closely.

Recognition lit up her eyes, and she grinned ever wider. "Chelsea, right?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't expect to see you back here, dear," she said.

She reached down to pick up a long piece of paper a machine I'd failed to notice was spitting out. I realized that it was connected to the heart monitor, recording my precious heart rate.

"Got a bit excited a few times, huh?" Louise asked.

I shrugged. "I guess."

"Well, you have good reason to," she relented, "But try to relax now, hmm? You're _sister_ will be here until you leave, I'm sure."

The smirk on her face made it clear she knew Julia wasn't really my blood relative. I blushed a little.

"Yeah, I know."

"You should rest now, honey. The both of you were extremely lucky – you should be out of here very soon. Though, um, you'll probably be with us a little longer than your husband."

My brow furrowed. "Why?"

"I haven't told her," Julia murmured quietly.

Louise's lips pursed into a tight line. "We'll have to tell eventually, dear. I'm supposed to have done it already."

"Do you know if it's still . . . there?" Julia breathed.

Louise sighed. "No, not yet."

"Please don't say anything yet," Julia begged, "She doesn't need the stress."

"A little longer, honey," Louise promised, "Then I must tell, good news or not."

Julia nodded somberly.

"Go to sleep now, Chelsea," the nurse said, squeezing my hand, and then turning to leave.

"Julia, if you don't tell me what's going on right now, so help me . . ." My threat trailed off, and I was giving her my dirtiest look.

"Please, Chelsea. Later. Go to sleep."

I sighed, and let it go, because she looked so desperate. Inside, though, I was still frightened about whatever the two of them were so worked up about.

But when I closed my eyes, it suddenly felt like weights were pressing down on them, and tiredness snuck up on me faster than I would have thought possible.

Satisfied with the knowledge that I would wake up again, I fell asleep.

* * *

I hurt a little bit less when I opened my eyes again. Julia was curled up in a chair on the far side of the room, with a book in her hands. As I peered closer, I saw it was _my_ book. The one that had been on my nightstand. The one I had been reading during all this craziness.

"Are you enjoying that?" I asked, my voice sounding more like my own.

Julia jumped a little, and then set the book down on her lap.

"I do like it. I don't understand everything that's happening, though. All I can gather is that there's a girl hanging with a bunch of domestic vampires."

I laughed out loud. "I guess so. Sequels usually make more sense if you read the original, you know."

Julia shrugged. "You didn't have the first one. I like the cover, don't you?"

"Yes, the flower's very pretty," I agreed.

"It kind of looks sad, though," Julia observed, "Just by the way it's pictured. Kind of tilted, with a petal falling off it. And a new moon is when the moon is completely covered, right? This is a sad book, isn't it?"

I shrugged. "It is to most people."

"To you?"

"So far, it is."

Julia shivered a little and set it aside. "I'll wait to read it, then. I've had enough sadness for the past few days."

"I think it has a happy ending," I said, "At least, I hope it does."

Julia smiled at me for a long time. I was glad that her desperate sadness seemed to have passed. Maybe it would make her more inclined to give me answers.

"How are you feeling, Chelsea?" She asked, still grinning.

"A little better," I said, wriggling my fingers under the blanket. The movement came without pain.

"Vaughn's supposed to be free sometime this evening," Julia said happily, "The two of us will probably hang out here until they let you go too, though."

"You don't need to stay," I told her, "I'm fine here."

But – irrational as the idea was - the thought of me being here alone, even for one night, scared me a little. Julia must have seen the flicker of fear in my eyes, because her expression softened.

"The doctors and nurses couldn't drag my cousin out of here if they used shotguns and knives."

"I know." I smiled.

Julia suddenly stood and walked to a small table next to the door. She picked up a tray I hadn't noticed and carried it over to me. Taking a deep breath first, I managed to sit up; the muscles in my back and arms throbbed and ached.

I cringed a little when I saw all the bits of black and purple decorating my skin. Some cuts that were already beginning to scab were visible, too, and I could suddenly feel with absolute clarity the bandage on my right thigh.

I didn't peek down at it, though – I was too afraid I'd see lots of blood. Julia sat the tray down in front of me. I smiled at the big bowl of tomato soup, the small plate of fruit, and the big glass of apple juice.

Glancing down, I noticed the needle in my wrist was gone. As I started to eat, Julia just stared at me, the same goofy grin plastered to her face.

"Why are you so happy?" I asked, popping a small strawberry into my mouth.

Julia took a big breath, and her voice was serious and calm when she answered.

"Chelsea, before . . . when I wouldn't tell you what was going on . . ."

"You're going to enlighten me now?" I asked hopefully, "That would be nice."

Julia reached out to clutch one of my hands again. Her eyes were so serious now that a nervous ball was sitting in my stomach.

"Chelsea, I was worried to tell her before, in case the news was bad. But Louse just told me that it is, in fact, the best news I've heard in a long time."

"Aside from being proposed to," I said.

Julia managed a smile. "Yes, besides that."

She hesitated. I frowned.

"Are you trying to kill me with suspense, Julia? It's working."

"Okay. Okay. Chelsea. I didn't want Louise to say anything before, because they weren't sure whether or not you'd lost your baby."

My brows knit together, not comprehending. "Are you talking about Vaughn?"

I'd never called him 'baby'. I was fairly certain he might have a brain aneurysm if I did. He never was one for pet names. I tried to call him 'honey' once, and he looked at me like I had grown a second head.

Julia smiled a little, and squeezed my hand gently. "No, Chelsea. I'm talking about a real baby."

I froze. The world seemed to freeze for a good five seconds. My heart refused to beat. My breath stopped. My mind went blank.

"W-what . . .?" I wondered, surprising I still had a voice.

Julia smiled. "I wanted them to make sure the baby was okay before they told you anything about it. I'm assuming that you didn't know?"

Incoherent babbles were running through my mind now, not one of them making the least bit of sense.

Baby. There. Was. A. Baby.

"I'm – I'm . . ." I swallowed heavily.

"Pregnant? Yeah." Julia giggled. "It wasn't something you planned? Huh. You should use protection, Chels."

I gave her a very nasty look. "It's a little late for a lecture, Julia."

"Oh, whatever." She clapped her hands together. "Aren't you happy? I was so worried something might have happened to it in the accident, after the doctors told me about your condition."

"How . . . how could they know?" I asked stupidly. "_I _didn't even know."

"They're doctors." Julia shrugged, as if this answer explained everything.

After taking in my still-blank stare, she laughed again. The tiny part of my mind that wasn't rendered useless and wasn't freaking out registered that I was glad to have my happy Julia back.

"It's in the early stages, Chelsea. Too soon for you to be puking and eating weird things," Julia explained, "But that'll come with time."

I grimaced a little at that. I stared at the closed door for a very long time, trying to gather my wits. Without thinking, my hand went to my stomach, marveling at how there was a little person in there.

A life, nestled inside of me.

The concept was so strange to me – my mother was never one for children and pregnancy. It was only after my father's constant pleas and insistence that she finally relented and agreed to have a child.

My father wanted more after me, but my mother flat-out refused, grossed out by the dirty diapers, and so very tired from the long nights when I woke up screaming.

Or so I was told.

I never really imagined that I would have children, except in far-out fantasies I never really believed. I'd never brought up the subject with Vaughn. I had planned to once, but . . . He didn't really strike me as a kid person.

He had little patience with Charlie and Eliza's antics. Once, when they snuck into Mirabelle's animal room and tipped over a huge bag of chicken feed, Vaughn scowled at them like they were dirt.

But, then again, he went back and grudgingly apologized for his reaction a little later. So maybe . . . I smiled a little. Because since this was Vaughn's child just as much as mine, it would probably look like both me and him.

I hoped it had his eyes.

Vaughn probably wouldn't like that, but I would. I thought his strange eye color was the most beautiful in the world. I hoped it was a girl. If I had a child, I would want a daughter. I realized I was pressing both hands to my stomach now, and I was smiling widely at the door.

Intense, fierce emotion suddenly washed over me.

I wanted this baby like I wanted air.

Like I wanted food and water.

"Are you happy, Chelsea?" Julia asked me quietly.

I turned my head towards her, realizing that a whole ten minutes had passed since Julia told me. She just let me sit here, grinning like an idiot.

"Yes," I said softly, "I am. I hope Vaughn will be, too."

"He will be. He doesn't really like kids, but I think he'd like his own." She laughed.

I smiled. "Me, too."

"He'll come by your room tonight," she said, "so you can tell him then."

"Yeah," I agreed, suddenly excited.

And then I went back to beaming.

* * *

The doctors decided to keep Vaughn in his room one more night.

"He refuses to calm down," Louise sighed that evening. "His doctor wants him to be less hostile when he leaves."

Julia laughed; her movements were a little stiff. Her muscles were probably a bit sore from sitting in that chair all day.

"Then they'll never let him leave. Hostility is just part of his personality."

Louise chuckled. "I know. We realized that during his first visit."

"Sorry," I said, as if that was somehow my fault.

Louise laughed. "He's just worried about you, Chelsea. No matter how many times we assure him that you're fine, he just keeps working himself up."

I sighed. "He's very stubborn."

"I promise you'll see him tomorrow. Even if Vaughn's still going strong, I'll convince the doctor to let him out."

"Thanks, Louise. You're a lifesaver." I smiled gratefully.

She waved me off and fluffed my pillow. Her beeper went off, and then she had to leave.

"You should go home for the night, Julia. That chair can't be comfortable," I said sympathetically.

Julia shook her head. "Louise offered to bring in a bed for me."

I smiled at her. "Thanks, Jules."

* * *

Deep sleep evaded me that night. I dozed occasionally, slipping in and out of dreams. Each time, when I woke up, I'd be confused about my location.

At first, panic would rise up inside me. Where was Vaughn? Why wasn't he lying next to me like always? Why was it so dark in here?

But then I would notice the bit of moonlight coming in through the window, and Julia's sleeping form on the other side of the room. I would calm myself down, and manage to go back to sleep.

That was during the first half of the night.

The second half, I wasn't so lucky with. At first, my dreams had been murky and unclear; nothing of real importance happened in them, so they were easy to shake off. The only images I remembered when I awoke were pictures of Vaughn, Julia, and that unnamed individual yet to be born.

But, a little after midnight, the nightmares started.

* * *

_I'm standing on a street I recognize._

_It's not the one I grew up on, but I've definitely been here before. Two cars shoot past me, and in the distance, I hear cars honking and people shouting vile things. Instinctively, I realize that I'm in the city. _

_The houses on this street are huge; their structure is so beautiful it leaves me breathless. They must cost a fortune. Who could possibly afford to live here? I glance to the side and see a tall intersection sign, marking this as Finsbury Street. _

_When I turn again, I am facing a marvelous white house. It has a deep blue trim that matches the tall front door. There's a huge tree stuck in the front yard, its braches nearly reaching out far enough to brush the three-story window. _

_There's a grey path next to the driveway – which I know houses insanely expensive sports cars – and a sign nailed to the door that says 'Home Sweet Home'. The mat on the porch reads 'Please wipe your feet'. _

_There's birds chirping nearby, and down the street I see two little boys riding around on tricycles. No matter how hard I try to focus on them, their faces never fully come into focus. This seems like a normal day, in a beautiful neighborhood. _

_But I have a tight ball of dread in the pit of my stomach that's impossible to ignore. I try to move, to run up the door, but my feet are rooted to the ground, right next to the big blue mailbox. _

_Suddenly, that door opens, and four people step out onto the porch. _

_Their expressions range from happy to flat-out giddy. Somehow, I know that they can't see me. That I'm merely an onlooker to the scene of this happy family, stepping out onto their front lawn to enjoy the sunshine. _

_One of them – a woman with unnaturally blonde hair – looks right at me, but I am invisible. One by one, they plop down onto the grass, laughing at something woman has just said. I can't hear their voices; I can only see their lips move. _

_I take the time to examine them, though some of the details, like small things, are difficult to make out. The woman is tall and thin, with happy green eyes and straight, white teeth. She wears dangly earrings and the widest smile I've ever seen. _

_I don't recognize her at all – until I look at the man. He's also tall, with dark hair and a long nose. His jaw is square and strong, and his grey eyes glint with some unknown emotion. He reaches out and takes the woman's hand, smiling. _

_His smile reminds me of a snake. Fury surges through me. I have never met this man, but I somehow know his identity. _

_Jack._

_Vaughn and Marissa's stepfather. And the woman next to him is their mother. Quickly, my head turns to examine the kids. The boy is tall, just like the adults, with a face I would know anywhere. _

_Even at this young age – possibly eight – his hair is still a bright silver color, shining in the sun. His eyes are that beautiful amethyst color that I love. He's thinner now, and a little more awkward, but it's definitely Vaughn. _

_My brow furrows – Vaughn said his mother didn't marry Jack until he was sixteen. But then I remember that this is only a dream, and everything can be strange and twisted._

_I try to move closer again, but I'm unable to. I try to speak, but the wind steals my voice. I suck in a deep breath, because I know who I will be looking at next. And then I see her. The girl – Marissa – is sitting next to her brother, grinning at her mother, who is still speaking. _

_She looks exactly as she did in the picture I once saw her in – big green eyes, long black hair, high cheekbones. She wears a frilly pink top and cut-off jean shorts. Her toe nails have been recently painted a striking color of red – she wriggles them in the sunlight. _

_Suddenly, I hear her laugh ring out across the yard – it is high and bouncy, the sound staying with me long after she's silent. Vaughn glances at his sister and grins about something, his face round and childish. _

_He suddenly stands, pulling Marissa up with him. The two of them start running around the yard – I can hear her laughing, but not him. I can tell he's happy, though, and it makes my heart squeeze happily. _

_It is an odd feeling, because it contrasts sharply with the dread still hanging over me like a black cloud. Something bad is going to happen – I can feel it. I continue to try and move forward, but it's useless. _

_Suddenly, the weather changes._

_The clouds block out the sun and it begins to drizzle. Vaughn and Marissa both slip on the wet ground, and once they're down mud proceeds to smear all over their clothes. _

_Marissa frowns distastefully at her once pink shirt for a minute, but then Vaughn says something and she's giggling again. _

_They are both so happy, the picture of innocence and laughter; they don't seem to notice the suddenly dark atmosphere. When I look up at the house again, it is nothing like before. The paint is peeling, the windows are shattered, and there's an ugly orange paint sprayed all over the white. _

_The birds' chirping is replaced by a shrill wail coming from somewhere far away, and suddenly the feeling of sadness and fear are pressing down on me so hard it's hard to breathe. _

_I look at Marissa's and Vaughn's mother – except it's not their mother beside him at all now. No, instead it's someone I've come to know, come to fear. Her eyes are blue and hard as ice, her glare sharp as knives. _

_Jack stands beside her, suddenly glowering at the children just as hatefully as she. Vaughn and Marissa don't notice – they're still laughing, lost in their own world. _

_Megan lifts a hand and points a long red nail at the both of them. I see her lips moving, and I see her scowl – she's angry about how dirty the kids are. _

"_They look like rats," she's sneering, "drowned rats. They're disgusting." _

_Jack nodded in agreement. The glint in his eyes from before has turned into anger, and something worse – anticipation. He looks forward to punishing the children, as does Megan. For a moment, I'm confused. _

_Why has Megan suddenly appeared in my dream? And where is Vaughn's mother? But I'm distracted from my thoughts when Jack lumbers up to where the kids are. He glares down at them and barks an order to go inside and change their clothes. _

_Vaughn is on his feet in less than two seconds, nodding obediently at his crazed stepfather. He starts walking to the broken white house, his house down and his shoulders hunched. Marissa gets to her feet, too, but much more slowly._

_She stares after her brother with sad eyes for a second, and then glares at Jack just as meanly as he is her. She lifts a finger and jabs it in Vaughn's direction, and then at herself – I can tell that she's angry for being treated so rudely. _

_She doesn't want to change; she wants to play in the rain. Jack repeats his order loudly, his body shaking a little with the force of his temper. _

_Marissa stands firm, staring him down with hard eyes. I want so desperately to race forward and protect her, but I'm also doubting her intelligence. She's so small compared to Jack, and doesn't look even a little scared. _

_Megan watches this scene, her hands curled into fists. Jack seems to calm down slightly. He gestures to the house again. When I look up at it, I see something inside – a huge new TV, a tiny iPod, and mountains of girlie clothes from Aeropostal and Abercrombie & Fitch. _

_He's trying to tempt her with his money, all the things he could give her if she just shut up and obeyed him. Marissa does glance longingly at the material items, but still, she refuses to budge. _

_Jack's expression darkens again, and his hand shoots out to grab hold of her arm. Marissa tries to jerk away, but he doesn't let her. He's yelling, spitting into her face and turning, dragging her into the house, ignoring her struggles to free herself from his grasp._

_Megan smiles a deranged grin as they pass her. Just as they reach the doorway, Vaughn steps out, his expression determined. He jabs a finger into Jack's chest, and is screaming what I assume are foul words. _

_He grabs hold of Marissa's free hand attempts to pull her away from his stepfather. But Jack only shoves him aside, causing Vaughn to stumble, skinning his knees on the suddenly stone porch. _

_Jack pulls Marissa inside the house, out of sight – and suddenly all is deathly quiet. But then I hear was I'm subconsciously waiting for – a scream. It rings out through the whole neighborhood, but not one person comes out of their houses to see what happened. _

_Nobody comes to Marissa's aid. _

_I lift my foot in the air, suddenly aware that I can move. But I don't. Megan goes into the house, but not before landing a hard kick into Vaughn's ribs. My stomach lurches, and suddenly I'm on my knees. I know I should probably go into the house and investigate, but I cannot bring myself to do it. _

_Because I know what I'll find. _

_A dead girl on the floor. _

* * *

I woke up, gasping and sweating.

Marissa's laugh was still ringing in my ears, followed by the shrill, horrifying sound of her scream. I felt my whole body shudder; I was shaking so hard, even though the sweat was pouring down my temples.

I clawed at the blankets I had kicked off during my nightmare, yanking them up and pulling them around me. My breath was shaky and rough, the dream still so vivid and ugly in my mind.

I glanced over at Julia, trying to take comfort from the way she breathed in and out so evenly. The once irritating beeping coming from the heart monitor was now a blessing – it reminded me that I was alive.

My body still hurt all over, and I could feel the cut in my thigh flaring around the edges. The pain was welcome, too. Despite that, though, sleepiness was beginning to creep up on me again.

I didn't want to go back to sleep – who knew what insane dream my mind would conjure up this time? For a while, I succeeded at remaining alert, but . . . I was still so sleepy . . . so I fell asleep.

And Round Two of the torture began.

* * *

_Jack's in a rage. _

_He's picking things up and flinging them around, breaking vases, tearing up papers, punching holes through the wall. Nothing is safe from his anger. Again, I am rooted in place, watching this scene take place in the living room of what I assume to be the big white house. _

_I am standing in the doorway of a kitchen, clenching and unclenching my fists. Vaughn's mother is nowhere to be seen. But, then again, at least Megan is absent. _

_Jack yanks a beautifully crafted figurine off the mantel above a brick fireplace and hurls it at plasma screen TV, effectively shattering the screen into pieces. His temper fit is terrifying me, even though I know I'm invisible. _

_Just then, I hear footsteps coming down a long hall, and I pray it's not who I think it is. But Marissa is coming towards us, a scrunchy in her hair and pink-rimmed reading glasses on her nose. _

_She blows a huge bubble from the pink gum she is chewing – the sound of it popping makes Jack whirl around, his eyes hateful and his nostrils flaring. _

_He yells at her to leave, but Marissa's chin jerks up defiantly at him, and she heads into the living room, sitting down on the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. This seems to snap something in Jack. _

_He yanks her up and starts screaming at her at the top of his voice. About how useless, ugly and stupid she is. About how she never listens and how she's always doting on her equally useless brother. _

_He says that he hates her, and he only keeps her around because she's his wife's brat. Marissa tries to fight back, but it's hopeless – Jack will kill her, like he did in real life. I still cannot move, but I can close my eyes against this horror. _

_But then a sound that's not Jack's yelling reaches my ears, and at first I don't know where it's coming from. But then I look out the open window and see Megan standing on the lawn, laughing her head off like this scene is completely hysterical. _

_Vaughn is suddenly standing next to me, still young, but much older now – perhaps sixteen. He seems to be struggling to move towards his sister, but he has the same problem I do – he's rooted in place. _

_I let out a horrified sob, and suddenly Vaughn's head whips to the right, staring down at me with piercing eyes. I stare back, surprised he can see me. He reaches out, brings me close, and whispers in my ear. His breath smells of alcohol. _

"_I knew this would happen," he says quietly. _

* * *

When I woke up in the morning, my mouth was dry and my body seemed to hurt more than it did when I fell asleep.

"Chelsea, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," Julia said, concerned.

She'd woken up about an hour before me and was now standing over my bed, resting her hand on my forehead to check my temperature. I brushed that hand away.

My voice was bleak and empty. "I'm fine, Julia. I just slept terribly last night."

"Oh." Julia frowned. "Well, hospital beds aren't famous for being wonderfully comfortable."

"You're right," I sighed, trying to appear normal. I was still so exhausted; it took energy to dream. "I just need to get some more sleep."

I was actually terrified by the idea, but if I didn't, the doctors would take one look at me and declare me unwell. Still. I took Julia's hand and squeezed; I wanted to be alone right now, to contemplate the horror of my nightmares.

"When did you last eat, Julia? You can't be comfortable here. Hospitals also aren't famous for their exquisite entertainment."

Julia smiled. "I know. But I'm fine here, really. There's a cafeteria downstairs, and I couldn't go shopping or anything knowing that you're here."

"Why?" I asked, "I'm alright. Vaughn and I will both be out soon enough. Don't waste away in here with us, Julia – go have a bit of fun. Like I said, I'm going back to sleep anyway."

I could see the idea was temping to her; she bit her lip and glanced at the door.

"Go on," I urged again.

"Well . . . ," she said, "I guess a few hours wouldn't hurt."

"Not at all," I assured.

"I'll be back before you miss me," Julia told me, "Louise told me Vaughn should be free of his room sometime this evening."

When Louise came in to check on me a few minutes after Julia left, I asked for pain killers.

"Please?" I asked, "The cut is killing me and I hurt all over."

Honestly, I just wanted to be guaranteed a dreamless sleep. I wanted a drug that would knock me out cold for a few hours. I wouldn't see Vaughn until this evening, anyway. Louise was a bit reluctant to give me what I wanted, since I wasn't in dire need of it or anything.

But finally she relented and gave me two little green pills to eat.

"These should do it," she promised, "But they'll make you incredibly drowsy."

I smiled happily. "Thanks, Louise."

* * *

Twenty minutes after Louise left the room, I was still awake. Incredibly sleepy, though. My limbs felt like stone and my eyelids were drooping.

I yawned hugely and welcomed the fog rolling into my mind, making my thoughts dull and lazy.

I was just about to drift off when I vaguely registered the sound of my door opening. I sluggishly opened one eye – and stopped my heart. With her back to me, shutting the door very quietly, I saw a tall blonde woman.

Even without her facing me, I knew exactly who it was. The feeling of panic did come, but the pills dulled the intensity of the emotion. My tongue was heavy and the haze in my brain was suddenly a huge hindrance rather than a helper.

Fear made me speeches, made my heart suddenly beat sprint, made my blood begin to pound behind my ears.

As Megan was turning, I made a quick decision. I let my eyes close again, and I prayed she hoped I was sleeping. She wouldn't try to kill me in a hospital, would she? She couldn't get away with that.

I heard the sound of heels clicking on linoleum as she came towards my bed. I forced each breath through my lungs, making it slow and deep through sheer force of will. Without looking, I could feel her staring down at me with those hard eyes.

And then I heard her speak. Before, whenever she spoke to me, she had at least attempted to sound friendly and sweet. But here, all pretenses were dropped, and her voice was flat and icy.

"So you survived."

I kept my mouth closed, but my body tensed under the blanket.

"I thought that you might," Megan continued, "and, at first, that made me very frustrated. I very much wanted – want – you dead, Chelsea. Well, not you so much as your _husband, _but still . . . The desire is all-consuming. I didn't really take the time to consider how quick a car accident might be . . . and I don't want that. I'd think I'd like both of you to go very, very slowly."

I had to physically stop myself from shuddering at the sincerity in her voice. I so desperately wanted to ask her why, _why_ she wanted to do this to us. And then I remembered her in my dreams.

Was there a connection between Megan and Vaughn's family that was deeper than just being neighbors?

One that Vaughn himself didn't know about?

"So I'm actually quite glad you aren't dead, Chelsea," Megan said, "This little accident could have been quite messy."

I felt fingers brush my cheek, and I wanted to scream. And then I heard heels on the linoleum again, my door being opened. I was a little surprised she was leaving so soon – but beyond relieved.

Her voice dropped low to say one more thing before she left, and it was this comment that made me want to break down, shrivel up and die.

"But you might not survive the next one."

**A/N: I have no idea why I decided to write Chelsea's dreams in present tense. It just happened. **

**I updated my profile. There's a picture of Marissa under L&H images. **


	9. Disturbed

_9: Disturbed _

Despite the sheer terror Megan's little visit had caused, I fell asleep quickly after she left.

The drugs Louise had given me were powerful – they floated around in my bloodstream and dulled my emotions. No matter how hard I tried to stay awake to think, to reason, I just couldn't.

Just before I drifted off, I had one last fleeting image of horror. I imagined Megan changing her mind about a slow death for me – a shudder so deep it made my teeth chatter rocked through me – and coming back to kill me, quickly and easily.

Laying here in this hospital bed, my skin bruised and bloody, with drugs forcing slow reactions and jumbled thoughts, killing me would be so easy.

For anyone, really. I wouldn't fight back. But then the peace I'd felt just before fully waking up to piercing bright lights and beeping heart monitors came back to me, and dying didn't seem so bad.

Really, it was just a long, deep sleep you never woke up from.

Thankfully, just as I wished, I did not dream. There were no dark images of Jack or Megan or Marissa to haunt my unconscious mind. But then there was no Vaughn, no Julia, no anything. There was nothing but darkness.

When I woke up, much later, I felt a hand on my face. Even in my disoriented state, even though I hadn't opened my eyes, I knew who the hand belonged to. His hand was warm, gentle, and calloused from hard work done in the past.

It would be impossible for me to mistake his touch for anyone else's.

Though fear and dread were still clutching at my heart, I couldn't resist smiling a little. In response, his thumb swept over my cheek, and his other hand clutched mine.

I turned my head – it felt very heavy – and stared up at him. Like before, the lights glared down at me. At first, all I saw was a face staring down at me, love and worry in his eyes.

And for a moment, I couldn't imagine a sight more angelic.

"They finally let you out?" I asked quietly, still smiling.

My voice sounded a little better. His answering smile was tender. I took note of a long, ugly scratch on the side of his face, under his left ear. Other than that, his face was fine.

"Yes. Finally. They were supposed to let me go earlier."

"Louise – my nurse – said you were too hostile."

He snorted. "They wouldn't let me see you. It wasn't wise of them to expect Mr. Sunshine."

"I've never seen him myself," I observed teasingly, "So I've dismissed his existence."

He leaned down to light press his forehead to mine; amethyst was the only thing I saw. "I will be nothing but rainbows and butterflies if you get better quickly, Chelsea."

The sheer impossibility – and craziness – of his words made me laugh out loud. I reached up my hands – my bruised, healing hands – and held his face between them.

"Good luck with that," I sighed quietly.

My heart sped up, and I vaguely took note of the fact that there was no wild beeping to go along with it. They'd taken away my heart monitor. That was a good sign, wasn't it?

He chuckled, and just looked at me for a long time, unfathomable. But then he sighed, and swallowed heavily.

"God, Chelsea," he said, his voice choked and pained, "I was so afraid."

I nodded, and let the sympathy course through me. I pulled him closer – which was difficult, given my position – and rested his head in the crook of my shoulder. My fingers ran through his hair, and I think I mumbled a few comforting phrases.

His breathing was shaky and uneven, and when he pulled back to look at me, there was a tear running down his cheek. I did not think Vaughn – Vaughn, who was the definition of impassive – knew how to cry.

Or at least he'd forgotten how to. But the tears were unmistakably real. Of course, watching this made me cry, too. Tears formed in my eyes, and I let them fall openly, holding him close to me again.

This could have been so much worse.

We could have crashed head-on into a semi truck or something. We'd taken back roads on our failed attempt to go to Claire's apartment. What would have happened if we drove straight through the city, with all its stop signs and red lights?

We would have been hit for sure. And probably dead instantaneously. I shouldn't be alive. But I was. Somehow. And so was Vaughn. Gratitude rushed through me, and I sighed into his hair. I'm not sure how long we sat like that.

Probably a very long time. He pulled back again, and kissed my forehead. "This could have been a lot worse," he whispered, echoing my thoughts.

"Yes," I agreed.

"We could have died."

"Yes. But we're okay."

"For now."

His words hung in the air around us, bleaker than anything I'd ever heard before. And that was really saying something. The dread was suddenly back, forcing a tight ball up my throat, blocking my air passage and choking me.

"Don't say that," I managed to cough.

"Why? It's true, Chelsea. Brake lines don't cut themselves."

His eyes were back to normal now. Dry as a desert. Anger had replaced the sadness, the relief of being together, fairly unharmed.

"It doesn't matter right now," I said, "What we need to think about is getting better. And then we'll go back to our Islands, illnesses be damned."

Vaughn looked out the little window in the corner of my room. There was something in his gaze – the sheer fury, the terrible longing – that scared me. I grabbed his chin, and turned his head so he was looking at me again.

"Vaughn. We're going home soon."

He sighed, and then stood up, stepping away from me. He continued staring out the window for some time before he finally answered me.

"Chelsea . . . she did this to us. She could have killed you."

"And you," I interjected.

He shrugged, like that wasn't a big deal. "That's not my point. She shouldn't be left out there."

"She's not our problem," I said fiercely, "We just need to get away from her."

He stared at me. His voice was severe and firm when he spoke again.

"Chelsea, I want her dead."

The words burned with such real sincerity I shuddered. "So do I," I agreed quietly, "But we can't do anything about it."

He blinked and looked away from me again, unsettlingly quiet.

"Vaughn," I said.

He still didn't face me.

"Vaughn," I repeated.

No answer. Panic gripped me and I looked around for something to throw at him. When I came with nothing, I spoke again, my voice and high and afraid.

"_Vaughn!" _

The tone of my voice made him look. If my heart monitor was still around, I was positive it would be going off like crazy, beeping so quickly, too quickly. He took my hand again, and I reached up to nearly yank his face down close to mine again.

"I'm going to get better," I hissed, "And then we're going home. It's as simple as that. You will not entertain ridiculous notions in your head. Do you understand me?"

My voice was still weird – if a stranger heard it, they may wonder whether or not I was mentally stable. At this moment in time, I myself wasn't so sure. He was considering sticking around the city to what? Kill her? No. No, that wouldn't happen. We wouldn't stoop to that. How dare he even think otherwise.

"Chelsea, Chelsea, calm down," he said, a little frantically.

"I can't!" I cried, "Not when you're . . ."

Vaughn sighed. He glanced around for a minute, as if to look for eavesdroppers. Then he moved to the side of my bed I wasn't on and lay down beside me. I swallowed, and just then I realized I was trembling.

Vaughn took in my state, and his expression softened. His arms wrapped around my shaking body, and he held me as close as he dared, what with all my damage. He whispered in my ear, telling me that everything was okay and that he loved me and that he was sorry.

"You know I couldn't really do it," he said quietly, "I just . . . couldn't. It would remind me of Jack killing Marissa."

He shivered. "I don't want to be anything like him."

I thought for a minute about telling him about my dreams, my horrible, hideous nightmares. But, for some reason, they seemed too personal, too private, so much so that I wouldn't share them with anyone. Not even Vaughn.

I only managed a small "hmm" in reply.

Silence fell over us, and I tried to think of nothing all, just being in his arms.

Finally, though, he whispered, "But if I ever do see her again . . . I'm at least going to find out why. Why she's trying to hurt us."

The memory of her short visit flitted through my head, and my mouth went dry. Her voice, so flat and unfeeling, echoed in my ears.

"_I very much wanted – want – you dead, Chelsea. Well, not you so much as your _husband_, but still . . ."_

It was Vaughn she really wanted to die. More so than me. I suppose I should have realized it before. From the very first time we met, in that stupid department store, her friendly smile always seemed to slip, her eyes a little less friendly, whenever I said his name.

My dreams only seemed to give more proof to my conviction.

There was some connection between Megan and Vaughn's family. But what? I shivered a little when I thought about telling Vaughn about her visit.

What would he do, then? Nothing rational. So I would just have to keep my secrets to myself.

Again.

"Does it really matter?" I asked weakly.

"Yes." He put his lips right to my ear. "Anyone who tries to take you away from me belongs in a world full of torment and pain. But I'd still like to know why."

"So would I," I agreed softly.

Another silence. And then, before I could stop myself: "Vaughn, do you think Megan knew your family?"

He tensed, and his brows pulled together in confusion. "Why?"

I shrugged. "I just . . . think the reason for her . . . hostility . . . might come from there."

"She said she lived across the street at our house," he said, "when we were at that little restaurant with her."

"Right," I said, remembering.

"_I did stay there, for a while. Until I left."_

And Vaughn's reply: _"Sounds like you paid an awful lot of attention to my house." _

Megan's little smirk when she answered. _"Oh, I was right across the street. How could I not see things?" _

Vaughn frowned.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's just . . . I'm trying to remember. The house across the street. It was yellow, I think . . ." He trailed off. I was quiet, letting him think.

He sighed, frustrated. "I don't know. I never met the resident of that house. I guess it's possible that she knew my mother, or Jack."

"Maybe something happened between the three of them," I suggested.

"Then why kill us?" he asked. "My mother is dead, and Jack's in prison."

I moaned a little. I simply didn't know. Rain was beginning to fall; it dripped down the window outside lazily. I closed my eyes – and for a second, I could pretend I was back in my farmhouse. I could imagine it was just another day, no different from the last, and Vaughn and I were sleeping.

Would I ever see my Islands again?

I felt Vaughn's eyes on my face, so I had to let go of my illusion. Sighing, I peeled back my eyelids to stare at him. He was smiling, surprisingly. He tilted his head, and then he was kissing me.

I sighed happily, losing myself in the pleasurable sensations, such a welcome relief from all the horrible ones. His hands were gentle, mindful of my injuries. I suddenly wished like crazy that I was just fine, and that we were anywhere but here. But I could wish all I wanted to, and it wouldn't help me in the slightest.

It never did.

"I love you, Chelsea. Nothing like this will happen again. We'll . . . go back to our Islands, and forget about this whole damned trip."

I managed a small smile, but my heart felt tight, like it would burst at any time. The stress of everything was taking its toll on me, and my exhaustion – even after sleeping for most of the day – wasn't helping.

More than that, though, knowing Megan was out there, planning, waiting, was literally eating me alive. I wasn't worried for myself. Not really. Right now, I knew what a feeble state I was in. It felt like she could do whatever she wanted to either of us now, and I couldn't lift a finger to stop it.

Had that been part of her plan? Batter and toy with us until we were both tired and paranoid?

It very well might have been. But the other infuriating thing was, _I just didn't know. _

"Not the whole trip," I said quietly. "The first few days were good."

"I found the nights to be the most memorable," he replied.

I smiled. No matter how grim our situation, I would always try to find some humor, bleak or otherwise. We sat in silence again for a long time before I broke it.

"How long was I sleeping?"

"Close to nine hours," he said, "Whatever they gave you was pretty strong. Are you still tired?"

"Yes."

"Are you in pain?"

Up until now, the aches and tears in my body were bearable. But now that he brought it up, they were suddenly very excruciating.

"Yes," I said honestly, "But I'll . . . get better."

I recognized that my voice sounded weak, but that's how I felt. Weak. Powerless. I hated the feeling.

"Soon," he encouraged, "Or else my cousin will run out of patience and marry that dork while you're away."

I laughed. "Elliot's not a . . . well, he is, I guess. He can't help it. It's sort of cute."

"Get better, Chelsea," Vaughn said, squeezing my hand.

"I will," I sighed.

And I knew that I had to. Not just for myself, but for the other person currently taking up residence inside me. I bit the inside of my cheek and looked away. Should I tell him my news now? I glanced back at him; he was looking down at our hands, his eyes far away.

No, I decided. There was too much on his mind already; pregnancy would surely be sensory overload.

"You're not a hundred percent, either, you know," I teased.

"I'm fine," he said.

I sighed. "You don't always have to be strong for me, you know. I can tell when you're hurt."

His voice was suddenly very low. "I've been hurt before."

I frowned, and pressed my hand to his cheek. "Yes," I agreed, "But now you have me. And I love you. I'm here for you."

"Yeah. I know." He smiled a little, but the seriousness was still in his eyes.

Just then, the door swung open, and Louise popped in. She saw the two of us on my bed, and she shook her head disapprovingly, though she was smiling slightly.

"That bed's only meant for one," she said, "And she's got to get back to resting."

Vaughn grimaced, but he reluctantly followed Louise's orders. He got up, still clutching my hand.

"I've been asleep for nine hours," I complained. But tiredness was already weighing down on me already.

Louise rolled her eyes. "Well, obviously you'll have to eat before you sleep again, Chelsea. I merely meant you shouldn't be getting . . . excited."

Her gaze flickered to Vaughn, her eyes accusing. He made a face at her again, but he appeared to be teasing. Perhaps he was fond of my nurse. I blushed a little at her implications while Vaughn helped me sit up. Louise handed me a little packet with small black writing.

"The menu," she explained, "Call the cafeteria and they'll deliver your food up until eleven at night."

I nodded. "Thanks."

She left, and I ordered some kind of sandwich.

"Where did Julia wander off to?" Vaughn asked.

"Uh, she had some errands to run," I muttered.

He shook his head disapprovingly.

"She deserves to get out for a while," I defended.

He sighed and shook his head, leaning down to kiss me. "Let's agree to disagree."

I rolled my eyes, and waited for the sandwich.

* * *

Louise promised me when I woke up the next morning – another night of dream-free sleep, thanks to the drugs – that I would be out of the hospital by the end of the week.

"There isn't much reason to keep you here," she said, when I asked. "You're healthy enough right now; we're just being safe. Since there's a baby to think about, extra caution is necessary."

I nodded, thankful Vaughn was currently out of the room. "Could you please not mention the baby to him?" I asked, my voice soft.

Louise blinked, surprised. "Why wouldn't you tell him?"

I stared back at her dumbly for a long time. It wasn't like I could explain our current situation and all its dangers to her; no sense in burdening her with such tales. But I couldn't think up a logical lie to answer her question, so the idiot stare continued.

After a minute, though, Louise blushed a deep red, and said quickly, "Of course it's none of my business. I apologize for being so nosy, Chelsea. I won't say a word, if that's what you want."

I smiled a little, relieved. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Louise twisted a strand of her hair between her fingers, still uncomfortable. Her eyes flickered to the door, and she took a hesitant step toward it.

"Is there anything else you need?" She asked, her tone clearly indicating her desire to escape.

I thought for a minute. Even after all that sleep, I was still tired, though I was fairly certain it didn't come from the drugs. I shuddered, knowing that my hideous nightmares might return without their effect.

"Could I have some more of what you gave me before? The sleeping drug?" I tried to keep my voice from sounding like a plea.

Louise frowned, her embarrassment temporarily forgotten. "No, I don't think that's really necessary, Chelsea. It'd be a shame for you to recover and then have to go to rehab for a drug addiction."

She laughed, trying to lighten the atmosphere, I was sure. Her attempt at teasing me only soured my mood.

"Well, I don't need anything else then," I said sharply.

Louise frowned again at my turn. She heaved a deep sigh, turned, and walked out of my room. While she was gone, I contemplated another three days in this hospital.

My eyes swept over the bare white walls, the small square window in the corner, the small speck of dust on the lamp. There was nothing homely or cozy about this room; I felt like an alien in it. I spotted a small square picture hanging up in one corner.

It was some sort of strange design, probably intended for the audience to use their imaginations.

Swirls of blue, black, and white dotted the picture at random intervals; it seemed like such an odd thing to put in a hospital room. After I'd stared at it for some time, though, I slowly made out an image.

The white was splashed around the corners, encompassing a light blue circle. Inside that circle was a perfectly round, black dot.

Though it probably wasn't what I thought it was at all, to me, it looked like an eye.

A blue, hard eye that was staring me down, its expression unfathomable. I shuddered. Now it felt like Megan was watching every move I made. I shivered, though the blankets on top of me were thick and heavy.

I quickly tore my eyes from the picture before it could freak me out further. I looked out the window instead, focusing on the cars entering and leaving the parking lot. I didn't like it here. It only added to my depression.

When my door was left open, I could sometimes here the coughs or moans of other patients, in different rooms. Surrounded by the sick – and possibly, the dying – did wonders for a person's mood.

The next shiver that hit me left my fingers trembling; they didn't stop for a long time. And when I got out of here, what? Megan would try to get us again. Her lovely parting words came back to me, echoing ominously through my mind.

"_But you might not survive the next one." _

She wasn't going to quit.

She was just going to keep trying until she fulfilled her goal. To kill one of us, or possibly both of us. For a terrible moment, I was almost at peace with the idea. At least dying would mean escaping the constant stress and fear.

I tried to shake off the thought, knowing that Vaughn would be furious if he knew that it had even crossed my mind. I had to get better. I was going to live. I wasn't going down without a fight. I smiled grimly to myself.

Then I lifted my face and jutted my chin out defiantly at the blue-eyed picture.

"Stay the hell away from me," I said to it.

Somehow, the statement made me feel better. I really hoped my mind hadn't snapped, and that a man with a straight jacket and a really long needle wasn't going to appear in my doorway. It wouldn't surprise me if he did.

I sighed hugely, filling my lungs with air, and exhaled in a long whoosh. I had eaten a big breakfast at Vaughn's urging, and being full was only intensifying my sleepiness.

_No, _I moaned inwardly.

I didn't want to sleep. I didn't want to see the things my subconscious was capable of dredging up. But there was no fighting it. It wasn't like I could leap up and start jogging around to keep myself awake.

My eyes closed, and I slept.

* * *

_I am running through the woods. _

_Like before, I am not in control of what my feet are doing, so I can't stop. Air gusts by me at an incredible speed, stinging my eyes and whipping my hair around. I miss trees and branches by mere inches. _

_I leap over long roots and debris littering the forest floor. I run for a long time, but I do not get tired. After a minute, the feeling is purely exhilarating. Maybe this isn't a bad dream, after all. _

_This thought vanishes as quickly as it comes, because I soon feel the presence of another beside me. My head turns, and takes in the sight of a girl. Of course, the long black hair and green eyes instantly tell me that it's Marissa. _

_I brace myself, waiting for this dream to turn into a nightmare. At first, nothing happens. When I glance over at her a second time, though, she looks confused. She turns her head and stares at me questioningly just as we dodge a massive tree. _

"_Why are we running?" she asks, her brows pulling together. _

_Surprisingly, I find my voice. "I don't know. Are we running away from something?" _

"_Maybe," she says, "Or maybe not." _

"_Let's stop," I suggest. _

_Marissa shrugs. "Okay." _

_We do, and then she reaches for my hand. _

"_Let's go back to my house," she says. _

_I shake my head. "I don't like your stepfather." _

"_Me neither," she agrees, frowning, "But my brother's there. I miss him."_

"_What do you mean? You live with him." _

"_Yeah, but he doesn't talk to me anymore. He doesn't love me." She sighs, her eyes so sad my heart aches. _

_I pat her shoulder awkwardly. "Yes, he does." _

"_How do you know?" she wonders. _

"_He's told me," I say. _

_Marissa stares at me hard. "But we don't even know you." _

"_He does. I married him." _

"_My brother is only sixteen," she snaps. _

_I shake my head. "No, he isn't." _

"_I'm Chelsea," I offer. _

_Marissa nods. "Okay, Chelsea. Let's be friends." _

"_Yes," I agree. _

"_For as long as we can be," she adds ominously. _

"_What do you mean?" _

"_My stepfather. Jack. He's going to kill me." _

"_You don't know that," I say, though I know it's true. _

"_He will. I know it." _

"_Then run away," I say. "I'll go with you." _

"_I can't," she says, "I have to stay with my brother and my mother." _

"_You can't stay there, just for them," I say, frustrated. _

_Marissa blinks. Her eyes seem to glow. "Sometimes the people you love the most hurt you the most." _

_I nod in understanding. Just then, a light cuts through the trees, shining brightly on my face. _

_Marissa's eyes widen, and she shrieks, "Chelsea! Run! Get away from here!"_

_I blink, confused. "What? Why?" _

_She puts up her hands and shoves me hard, making me stumble. I fall backwards, landing in a huge bush that seems to engulf me completely. Through a slit in the leaves, I see Megan materialize where I just stood, a flashlight in her hands. _

"_Where is she?" she snarls at Marissa. _

_Marissa grits her teeth. "Nowhere," she growls. _

_I want to leap out of the bush and protect her, but the leaves have somehow coiled around my limbs, holding me in place. _

_Megan screams at her, grabs her wrist, and drags her off into the trees. _

* * *

I woke up gasping for air again. And then my eyes welled up with tears, spilling down my cheeks. My heart had felt so close to bursting before; and now it felt like it had, and the pieces were just littered around my chest, each one hurting to the point of excruciating agony.

"Why?" I moaned aloud.

I'd never had dreams this terrible before. In the beginning, I'd have a few nightmares about Jack and Marissa. But none of them had been this vivid and scary. Why were they occurring now?

The walls in my room felt like they were closing in on me, and I sucked in a huge breath. I shook, my body shaking with sobs. It felt like I was a broken, shriveled up thing. No, a broken, shriveled _toy. _

Sadness was lurking in every corner of my mind, threatening to overpower me with its sheer brute force. It felt like I would never be home again. It felt like Marissa would always haunt us, and we would never be truly at peace.

I felt truly and deeply depressed.

Just then, my door was pushed open. Vaughn walked in, his eyes instantly zeroing in on my wrecked form. His eyes widened, and he hurried over to the bed, his hands fluttering around my face, my hands.

I knew it must look like I was having an episode or something. I probably was.

"Chelsea? Chelsea, what's wrong?" His voice was desperate, frantic to the point of hysteria.

He eyed the nurse button, but before he could press it, I sucked in a deep breath to calm myself.

"I'm okay," I said, though my voice was raspy, "I'm just fine."

"No, you're not," he said.

"Really." I took another huge breath. "Just give me a minute."

Breathe, I told myself sternly. I would not look at the blue picture. I would not think about the dream. I will just lay here and gather my wits before Vaughn does anything rash.

"What's wrong?" he repeated. Thankfully, his tone was less anxious than before, because I had noticeably calmed down.

"It was nothing," I sighed.

He glared.

I bit my lip. "I've been having bad dreams," I confessed, "And I hate hospitals."

"You'll be out soon," he said, "You know that. Do you . . . want to talk about the dreams?"

He looked a little uncomfortable by the prospect. I thought for a minute, and then shook my head.

"No. I'll deal with it."

"Chelsea," he warned.

"They're just freaky," I snapped, "They're about Marissa."

Vaughn was silent, frowning deeply. "Yeah," he agreed quietly after a minute, "Those can be bad."

"I'm just . . . stressed," I said, a huge understatement.

"Everything will be alright," he promised, gripping my hand. "I won't leave your room again."

"Julia will be with me sometimes," I sighed, "Where is she now?"

"Eating. She'll be right up. She's worried about you, too, Chelsea."

"I'll be alright."

The statement held about as much conviction as I felt. He stood in silence for a long time, just holding my hand.

After a while, I smiled. "I don't think I'll drive a car again anytime soon."

He snorted, and nodded.

"It's a good thing we got insurance," I went on, "so we don't have to pay for the damage. Still, I wish it wasn't wrecked. It was a nice little car. The dealership was nice, just like Claire said it would be."

I was babbling, trying to keep my mind off of bleak subjects. But, towards the end of my ramblings, Vaughn blinked, like he'd just realized something of great importance.

"What?" I asked, "What is it?"

His voice was a growl. "Nothing."

Vaughn was very quiet all afternoon.

Whenever I tried to make conversation, his answers would be short and brusque. I could tell his thoughts were elsewhere, so eventually I stopped trying to gain his attention. What worried me, though, was the angry glint in his eyes.

Whatever he was focusing on so keenly was obviously upsetting him, and a part of me was afraid to know what it was. Whenever I asked, though, he'd snap again that it was 'nothing'.

Only occasionally did he ask me how I was feeling, or insist that I eat something. Julia came in around eleven, her eyes bright and enthusiastic.

Obviously, she hoped that by her being a thousand times more perky than usual, it would rub off on me. But my nervous, bad moon hung around me like a thick, impenetrable shield.

After a long time of trying to cheer me up, she eventually just glared.

"Chelsea, smile."

I stared back at her bleakly. "Why?"

"Because you should."

"Why?"

"Please." Julia batted her eyes at me, like we were both six years old.

I sighed, and shook my head. "I don't want to."

"I don't know why you're so sulky," she said, "You're getting out of here in two days."

I moaned a little and looked away, wishing for the thousandth time I could tell her everything.

"Stop upsetting her, Julia," Vaughn snapped.

She flinched at the harshness in his voice. Normally, I would intercede here, and make him apologize. But I no longer felt as though I had the energy. It was like life was slowly leaking out of my pores, making me tired and apathetic.

I stared up at the white ceiling, suppressing tears. Vaughn came over and stroked my hair, but his eyes were glazed over, and I knew he was still thinking about whatever was bothering him. I heaved a big breath, welcoming my newfound tiredness.

Before I drifted off, though, I had to say one more thing.

"Vaughn?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not thinking about doing anything stupid, are you?"

His long pause frightened me. I peeled back my eyelids to glare suspiciously.

"No," he answered finally. He sounded sincere enough.

But I knew how good Vaughn could be at telling lies.

**Vaughn's POV **

Chelsea looked very bad.

Her skin was beyond pale, her eyes were devoid of emotion, and her voice held an indifferent note that scared me. It was confusing, though, because when I'd first visited her room – after that damned stubborn nurse finally let me leave my own – she had been comforting, happy even.

Well, not _happy. _Neither of us was happy. How could we be? A coldhearted blonde woman was currently watching every move we made. At first, I was merely wary, not believing she would do anything rash.

But now _this . . . _cutting our brake lines. Causing at accident that very well could have killed us both. I shuddered noticeably at the idea. The mere thought of Chelsea being hurt in any way was enough to bring about a wave of pure hatred and fury for whomever caused it.

I didn't really think of myself as a violent person. But I could honestly say nothing would please me more than to find _Megan _in a dark alley and do away with her very, very slowly.

The yearning I felt for that burned through my veins and constantly dominated my thoughts.

Because whenever I looked at the way Chelsea was now, pale, unhappy and broken . . . hatred for Megan was all I could feel. And I was seriously worried.

The doctors and nurses seemed to be watching her very closely, checking in on her more and more frequently. Finally, I broke down and questioned the red-haired nurse about Chelsea's health while she slept.

Even in sleep, her brow was creased, and her hands gripped the blanket, like she was seeing terribly unpleasant things. I shivered, remembering how she'd told me that she had nightmares about Marissa and Jack.

I had always prayed that particular part of my haunting past would stay with me, and me only. Before Chelsea, the nightmares came almost every night. But when she was next to me – as she generally was these days – I could sleep peacefully.

"Why are you watching her so closely?" I demanded the nurse.

Vaguely, I remembered that her name was Louise.

She frowned at me. "I'm sure you've noticed her depressed state of mind lately, Vaughn. We're hoping it will pass. She has to get better."

"Damn right she does," I snapped, "But you don't have to keep eyeing her all the time. It probably makes her nervous."

"It's necessary, Vaughn," Louise insisted, "And not only for her sake."

My eyes narrowed. "Who else's, then? Mine?"

She blinked, and then she pursed her lips, looking very much like a person who'd accidentally said too much.

She hesitated, debating, before finally saying, "I'm not at liberty to discuss that."

"What?" My voice was coming out in almost a yell.

In the hall, a few people stopped to stare. "There'd better not be something you're not telling me about her health," I snarled, managing to lower the volume.

Louise looked back at me with hard eyes. "I am only allowed to impart certain information."

"She is my _wife,_" I snapped, "What could possibly prevent you from telling me?"

Louise fidgeted with the edge of her shirt. Inwardly, I smiled, enjoying watching her squirm.

"Chelsea doesn't want you to know," she finally admitted.

Her voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it. Panic took hold of me, and suddenly I was stepping forward, gripping Louise's arms tightly.

"What's wrong?" I managed to say. "Is it serious?"

Louise's eyes flickered to my hands, and I reluctantly let go and stepped away. "No, it's nothing bad, I promise you," she said, "Chelsea will be fine in a few days, at least physically."

I blinked. What would Chelsea not tell me if it was good news, and not bad? I knew she kept secrets, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Finally, I gathered my wits long enough to nod at her once, my face unfathomable, an expression I had worked for a long time to perfect.

"Thank you."

With that, I shut the door in her face. I went to sit in a chair beside the window, and waited. Julia should be back from wherever she'd gone soon. Perhaps _she _knew this mysterious bit of information Chelsea had denied me.

Whatever it was, it wouldn't be hard to get out of her. Julia could never keep a secret. Unfortunately, she didn't come back for a long time, leaving me alone to think. I had been pondering the same thing for a while, probably coming off as distant.

But, for the moment, it didn't matter. I had been thinking about something Chelsea said yesterday. She herself didn't realize the implications of it, but it had sparked an idea that was getting harder and harder to say no to.

"_The dealership was nice, just like Claire said it would be," _Chelsea had said.

Those words had stuck with me all this time. Claire was the one who recommended the car dealership to us. She'd said she "recommended it highly". True, it had been Megan who cut the break lines. It had been Chelsea's idea to rent the car.

And yet I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion in the back of my mind that maybe, just maybe, Claire was wrapped up in all of this.

Just like with Megan, though, her motives were unknown. I had never liked Claire. From the very first moment she set her eyes on us, I'd been suspicious.

A small part of my mind had recognized that perhaps it was perfectly logical for her to want to know what happened to her friend.

But she wanted to know _so badly. _Like her very life depended on it. I did feel guilty at first, for denying her the information. But it wasn't difficult to convince myself later that there was nothing wrong with what I'd done.

What happened in the past was my business, and if I didn't want to share the story with someone, that was my choice. Claire didn't have to know anything.

My eyes wondered over to Chelsea again, who was frowning unhappily. Still. Sighing heavily, I looked down at my hands. I knew how much sympathy Chelsea held for Marissa's friend.

So much more than I did.

But, in general, she was just much more compassionate than I was. I wasn't an idiot. I knew very well that Chelsea had tried many times to be alone with Claire to tell her the secret I protected so fiercely.

And knowing that had irritated me – infuriated me, even – that she would go against my wishes so blatantly. But I knew Chelsea only wanted to help. Seeing other people in pain did something to her.

Which was why I was so worried about these nightmares she was experiencing. I only wanted her to get better. Giving Megan whatever she wanted – which, honestly, was probably my death – would be worth it if that happened.

I bit the inside of my cheek, stopping only when blood filled my mouth. The plan I'd unconsciously formed in my mind involved Claire. I had to find out if she was involved with Megan.

And, so help me, if she was, I would kill her.

Because Chelsea had extended so much worry, so much _love_, for a person she barely knew. I stood, heading for the door. When it swung open before I touched it, I jumped back to avoid being hit.

Julia smiled at me from the doorway. No matter how terrible I'd been to her lately, she continued to grin at me and pretend like everything was fine. I did feel badly for everything I'd said to her. Some of the comments had been vicious.

And, regrettably, I might have to say the exact same type of things if I was going to get the information I wanted. Claire could wait.

Pushing aside the guilt, I snapped, "Louise just said something I found interesting."

Julia's grin dropped instantly dropped from her face as if I'd stabbed her.

"And what was that?" she asked, her voice low.

Julia was the happiest person I knew, but when provoked, she had a cold side to her. Usually, I was the one dragging it out of her. Elliot hated it – hated me, probably. Not that I cared.

"She said that Chelsea had to get better, and not just for her sake."

Julia tried to look confused by my statement, but the flash of nervousness in her eyes gave her away.

"I'm sure she was talking about you, Vaughn," she tried, "You're married to her, after all."

I shook my head, glaring down at her. Julia was taller than Chelsea; I barely had to look down.

"I know that's not what she meant," I snarled, "and something tells me that you do."

Julia cringed, but her eyes burned with fury. "I'm so sick of you talking to me this way. Like you're so superior. You're not."

She shook her head. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder what Chelsea sees in you."

I blinked, and the pain brought about by her words hit me hard. But pain was easy for me to hide.

"Answer me, Julia," I said. After a moment, I added, "Please."

She stared at me for a long time. "I'm not supposed to tell you."

I gritted my teeth, frustrated. "Why?"

"Because," she said.

Our eyes remained locked. I had been positive that she would break down. But as the seconds passed, it was clear I wasn't going to get what I wanted.

"Fine," I sighed, my voice coming out wrong.

Instead of portraying the appropriate amount of scorn, it was sad and broken. A tone I despised. Before I could embarrass myself further, I pushed past my cousin, and stepped out into the hall, focusing again on my plan.

* * *

I knocked on Claire's door three times, and then crossed my arms over my chest, waiting. After a while, I feared that she wasn't home. But then the door cracked open, and large hazel eyes peered out at me.

When she recognized my face, she blinked. "Vaughn?"

"Yes," I said. I kept my voice calm. She probably wouldn't let me in if I sounded angry.

Claire opened the door wider. "What . . . what can I do for you?"

I bit my lip against my accusations. "I want to talk to you," I said simply.

She hesitated, but eventually nodded. "Alright," she agreed, "Come in."

I stepped into her apartment, heading to her living room. I heard the door close, and her footsteps as she followed me.

Once there, I whirled around to face her. I didn't know exactly how this was going to play out. Maybe I could work my way up to what I had to say. I usually didn't worry about stupid things like tactfulness. But this situation required care.

She spoke first. "What happened to you guys a few days ago?"

I hesitated, debating whether or not to tell her. "We decided not to come," I lied, "but I needed to today."

"Oh." She pursed her lips, brushing her hair away from her eyes. "Why?"

Again, I tried to think of ways to be delicate about this subject. When no ideas came, I told tactfulness to go to hell.

"Do you know a woman named Megan?"

I regretted asking the question as soon as I'd spoken. If she did, of course she wouldn't tell me. Claire blinked, confused by my abrupt question. Carefully, I examined her face for any sign of deceit.

Either she was truly bewildered, or she was an insanely good actress. Her face held something of an aura of innocence.

"No," she said after a minute.

I was surprised, expecting her to question me. But she simply answered.

"Oh." I frowned. "Are you sure?"

Claire nodded. "Yes."

She glanced out the window, suddenly frustrated.

"What?" I asked.

She shook her head, and tear dripped down her cheek.

I stared at her impassively.

"It's just . . . I hoped you came to discuss something different with me."

I sighed, exasperated. "You still want to know about my sister."

"Yes," she said, "I always have."

She looked at me again, and, in that moment, her eyes were so pure and blameless. It tugged at my heart. She seemed much too naïve to be involved with someone as cunning as Megan. I knew there was a possibility that she was acting, and that I was being played for a fool.

But, at that moment, I simply didn't have the energy to care. Chelsea wanted Claire to know. And I wanted to make Chelsea happy. So I finally let it go.

I gave her what she wanted. I sat down on Claire's house, and began to speak. At first, she gaped at me, like she couldn't believe I was finally telling her. Like it was the most unbelievable thing in the world.

To her, it probably was. I hadn't made my dislike of her a secret. But, at least this one small cause of stress in my life would vanish. I'd deal with the rest of my demons later. I told Claire the story much the same way as I'd told Chelsea.

Remembering that night, I smiled inwardly to myself. She was the first person in the world I had told. And, at the time, I didn't even know why. When I finished my story – my demented, sick story – I fell silent, examining her expression closely.

Claire looked pained and thoughtful. "That's . . . terrible," she said after a long moment. "But . . . I can't say I'm surprised. I always suspected she was . . . murdered."

She gagged on the word. She cried openly in front of me, the tears running down her cheeks. Wordless, she stumbled out of the room. I stayed where I was, staring off into space.

As usual, thinking of my memories in detail caused a bleak wave of pain to wash over me. The emotion was very familiar. When Claire came back a while later, she looked surprised to see me still on her couch.

Her eyes were fairly dry now, but, like mine probably were, they were haunted. I had hoped the truth would set her free, so to speak, but she only seemed to be falling into the same dark pit I frequently inhabited.

Well. That wasn't my problem.

"Thank you," she said to me quietly, "For telling me. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

I nodded, rising to my feet. "You're welcome."

I trudged to the door, swallowing thickly. Like before, she followed me. Just as my fingertips touched the doorknob, I heard her voice again, quieter than I'd ever heard it.

"Vaughn?"

A little curious, I turned my head, asking wordlessly. Claire stared at me for a long second, looking nervous.

And then – so quickly I had no time to react – she rocked up onto her toes, and pressed her lips to mine.

It was just for a second, just one second. But the action shocked me so much I merely stood and gaped at her for a minute.

Clare smiled a little. "I'm sorry. I had to do that."

My eyes narrowed, fury blazing through me. "_Why?_" She knew very well that I was with Chelsea. That I was _married. _

"For Marissa," she said, quiet again. "Just a week or so before she died, she dared me to kiss you. She knew I liked you. It was the very last time I spoke to her. So I just . . . had to. I'm sorry." She turned.

And walked away.

**A/N: I know Chelsea sounds like she's going crazy. She'll get better. I think. **

**For those of you who wonder, Claire isn't wrapped up with Megan. She's innocent. Megan's reasons for wanting to kill Vaughn – and Chelsea, too – have nothing to do with Claire. **

**Oh, and this fic isn't too terribly long. I'm estimating 5-6 more chapters. Could be wrong. **


	10. Illusion

_10. Illusion_

**Chelsea**

The days passed by in a blur.

None of them held any sort of significance. A few times, I asked Louise again for that sleeping drug. In some small corner of my mind, it scared me how much I wanted it. It felt like I would just shrivel up into a dried up husk if she didn't give it to me.

I _needed _it.

Because the nightmares continued to plague me.

And none of them were any less traumatic. Only the drug could numb my mind enough to take the pain away. It seemed like every time I closed my eyes, I saw their faces – Megan's twisted grin, Jack's hateful scowl, Marissa's happy, laughing face.

They haunted my every thought, settled into the deepest corners of my mind. Once when I woke up, I could have sword I saw a pair of icy blue eyes peeking out at me from behind the door. But when I blinked, they were gone. Of course they were. Louise refused me any sort of medication that might numb me.

"I can't administer unnecessary drugs, Chelsea," she kept repeating over and over.

I tried crying, beginning, yelling, but it didn't get me anywhere. I concocted elaborate fantasies of sneaking out of my room and stealing someone's medication just to get a few hours of sleep.

The world around me gradually lost its color, and the simple action of breathing seemed like a chore. My heart kept up its persistence beating, though occasionally I willed it to stop. Of course, it didn't listen to me.

Stupid heart.

And this room was starting to drive me ever more crazy than I already was. The white walls, the lumpy mattress, that _freaking painting _on the wall . . . I had to get out. But when I voiced this thought to Louise, she calmly explained that I was in no condition to be released.

"Chelsea, you're . . . physically, you're alright," she said.

"Then let me out," I cried, "I can't take this place anymore . . ."

"Then go out. Go for a walk. Appreciate nature. There's a little garden behind the hospital," she snapped, irritated.

She saw the pain on my face and sighed. Her tone was much gentler when she spoke again. "Honey, I don't know what's happening or what you're dealing with right now. If you want, I can get people who will listen. There must be some decent physiatrists in this city . . ."

"A shrink?" For some reason, this comment infuriated me. "I don't need a _shrink. _I need to leave this hospital."

"And you will," Louise said, "As soon as you're better."

I'd stalked away from her angrily. I knew that they couldn't keep me here against my will. If I so chose, I could walk away, and there was nothing they could do about it. The idea was tempting. But though this place was a cage, in a sick way, it was also a haven.

Because out there, in the real world . . . Trouble was waiting for me. I was safe here. Safe from the horrors and the treachery. Logically, I knew I'd have to go back eventually. The thing was, I wasn't exactly thinking logically.

I was acting like a paranoid, depressed freak. And though I knew it, it wasn't something that would magically disappear. Though I wanted it to. Mostly for the people around me. Julia was still in the city, though I'd told her to go home several times. Elliot was probably going mad with worry at this point.

She'd stayed much longer than she'd said.

"He's just fine. I'm not leaving you here, Chelsea. Not while you're . . . like this."

She looked at me with a mixture of pity and confusion. Of course. To her, I had no reason to be fearful or sad. She didn't know anything about Megan; because I hadn't told her.

It was somewhat easy to deal with Julia, because she wasn't pressing me for information (probably because she feared I would have a nervous breakdown), and I sort of liked having her here, watching over me. This was selfish. She should be back on Sunshine Islands, where she belonged . . .

_Where you belong, _a tiny voice in my head whispered, _and if you stay here for the rest of your life, what then? Your farm, your Islands, your friends, your marriage . . . it was all for nothing._

I collapsed onto my bed and tried to stop my fingers from trembling.

_Shut up! _I screamed at the voice.

I lay staring at the ceiling for a very long time, trying to think of nothing at all.

_This has to stop, _I told myself firmly, _after this, you're going back to the Islands. You'll have your baby. And everything will be like it was before._

Now if only I could really believe it. I heard my door click open, and my eyes lazily darted towards it. Vaughn approached my bed, settling down next to me. I let him wrap his arms around me. I bit my lip as the trembling in my fingers spread to the rest of my body.

This was who I was hurting the most with my little show of sadness and depression. Every time he looked at me now, all I saw was concern and shame. Shame for what? I didn't know. Shame for me?

Did he wish that things were different? Was he starting to regret everything? Wish that he hadn't stopped me from going to the city and marrying Will? The idea made me sick. But we weren't exactly communicating these days. I wanted to talk desperately, but I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what he would want to hear.

Certainly not the truth.

"Louise says that we can leave in a few days," he said eventually. His tone was casual, but it lacked emotion. Like he was talking to a stranger.

"She finally gave up on me, huh?" I didn't mean for bitterness to creep into my voice, but it did.

"I guess." Vaughn's arms slid away.

He stared down at his hands. "We'll get to the Islands as soon as we can."

"That's great." I stared at his hands, too. He had long fingers. I wished they would touch me.

"But I was thinking . . ." He broke off, and took a deep breath.

"Yeah?" I prompted.

"I thought that maybe I would stay with Mirabelle in the Shop for a while."

He didn't make eye contact with me as he said this. I was glad, because he didn't see the sob catch in my throat. I inhaled sharply, too, and asked the obvious question. I spoke it softly, almost inaudibly. I was afraid to know the answer.

"Why?"

He glanced up at me, his expression unfathomable. It reminded me of the face he wore when I was first getting to know him. It was a damn long time before any emotion started showing.

"I think that the Islands will help you get better, Chelsea. Much better than this hospital could ever do. And I don't think you need me around to . . . discourage that."

"What do you mean? You've been nothing but wonderful."

A few tears escaped without my permission. I wished he wouldn't see, but I knew that he could. Thankfully, he pretended not to notice.

He shook his head. "No. I mean, yes. But I'm supposed to be, Chelsea. You deserve it. I just . . . You're so . . ."

_You're so stupid! _I shouted at myself. _Can't you see how much this is hurting him? _

He reached over and took my hand, squeezing it as he spoke. "You're just like I was."

My brows pulled together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Before I . . . met you . . . I acted just like you do now. I was depressed, I was haunted . . . nothing mattered . . . Every night, the nightmares would come and torture me, and there wasn't a thing to be done about it. Death didn't seem like such a bad thing . . ."

He glanced up at me, so much emotion in his voice that my tears came faster.

"This is what I was afraid of," he whispered hoarsely, "This is what I knew would happen . . . if we were together. This is why I told you no, in the beginning. You told me that we could get through anything together, but . . . It was like I was sick, Chelsea. Like I had an honest-to-God illness. And not I've given it to you."

He dropped my hand like a hot potato. I wanted to console him, tell him that he was wrong, but I couldn't find my voice. Snot and tears had collected in my eyes and nose and throat.

"I should have let you go," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have gone after you that day in the rain. I should have let you leave for the city. I should have let you marry him."

That did it. Something inside me snapped, and my sadness morphed into fury. In a sick way, it was a pleasant change from the constant sadness; I hung onto it for all I was worth. How _dare _he say that to my face.

When he glanced at me again, I slapped him. Not hard, but enough for him to know how much he'd offended me. He jerked back, surprised at my violence.

"Don't you say that," I said, my voice low. I meant for it to sound sure and strong, but traces of the sob clung to it.

"Don't you _ever _say that to me. I wouldn't change it, not for anything in the world."

I leaned forward and gripped his face tightly between my hands. "Whatever this is eating at me, it will go away. I know it. I've just got to put some big girl pants on and deal with it."

I was confident I would feel better once we were back on the Islands. It was this damn city that was clawing at my heart. As for the nightmares . . . well. There wasn't much I could do about that.

Vaughn blinked, and made a halfhearted attempt to smile. It ended up as more of an odd grimace. I leaned my forehead against his.

"I need you right now," I said, "I need you to feel confident that we can deal with this, okay? No matter what. We _can _handle anything together."

I leaned back and added, "And it wouldn't have worked out between Will and me. He's too happy all the time."

Vaughn smiled, and this time it was genuine. "You prefer angst-ridden, somber men?"

"Yep." I laughed.

The sound was strange and foreign to me now, but at least it was real. "I gotta have my angst."

I wrapped my arms around him.

"I can't wait to go home and forget about this," I whispered. I kissed his cheeks, his nose.

"I love you."

I heard him sigh again, but this one was content and not sad. "I love you, too."

I kissed him then, long and hard. It had been too long.

"I'm hungry," I gasped when he pulled back.

He smirked. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Go get me something to munch on."

He nodded, and headed to the door. Just before leaving though, he turned.

"I went to Claire's a few days ago."

My eyes widened in surprise. "And?"

"And I told her everything."

I leaned back against my pillow, wondering what on earth would possess him to do that.

"Why?"

He smiled a little. "I thought it might make you happy."

The door clicked shut behind him.

The day I finally left the hospital, Louise gave me a big hug.

"Take care of yourself, Chelsea," she said in my ear, "and don't do anything stupid."

"I'll try." I thanked her for everything, and then we left.

Julia was thrilled to finally be leaving; she practically bounced up and down as she walked.

"So, are we finally going home?" she asked, unable to contain her excitement.

I smiled. "Yeah, finally."

"Yes! There's still so much to do. My wedding is supposed to be next week . . ."

A wave of guilt crashed over me. I had kept Julia waited and worrying during what was supposed to be the happiest time of her life. I promised myself that some way, somehow, I would make it up to her. She deserved a better friend than me.

"Still set on that, huh?" Vaughn rolled his eyes.

Julia smacked him playfully. The two of them seemed to be on better terms with each other, so that was something to celebrate. I took a deep breath and stared up at the clear blue sky. Free. I was free to go home and get on with my life, Megan be damned.

I refused to live the rest of my life in a cage of fear and depression. Damn it, I was going to go on, and be happy. I deserved that, and Vaughn deserved it, too. At that moment, I felt strong.

Invincible.

The pieces of my heart had been sewn back together, and I was determined to keep it that way. Marissa was dead. There was nothing to be done about it now. I could look back on her memory fondly, though I'd never actually met her myself.

I could move on.

We decided to have lunch before we left; we hadn't eaten anything for breakfast back at the hospital. Julia insisted that we go somewhere nice, since it would be out last meal in the city. I relished that word. _Last. _For all I cared, this city could disappear or turn into dust the moment I left it.

We entered a restaurant named _Antonio's_ and ordered overly priced pasta. It was amazingly good, though. At one point, our waiter approached out table and asked us if we would like to sample their new wine.

We all agreed, and he gave us three glasses partially filled with the dark liquid. Vaughn was teasing Julia about her husband-to-be, so I could assume he was in a good mood. Halfway through my pasta bowl, I picked up the wine glass and held it to my lips.

It had a slightly bitter edge to it that was strangely good. Before I swallowed, Julia glanced at me disapprovingly. For a second, I was confused. And then it hit me. I'd seen those little square sings sticking on the mirrors of every public restroom in the world.

The letters were big, red and bold: Avoid alcohol during pregnancy. I glanced at Julia, silently willing her to keep Vaughn entertained for a moment. I turned my head and tried to inconspicuously tried to spit it out without being noticed.

When I returned my gaze to the table, they were both staring at me. Cursing inwardly to myself, I pretended to look bewildered.

"What?"

"Why'd you spit it out?" Julia asked, though I could tell she was inwardly cursing me, too.

"I, uh . . . don't like it," I lied.

"But you've had this kind of wine before at Nick's, Chelsea. How can you not like it?" Vaughn wondered.

"I just don't," I snapped, a little more sharply than I should have.

He frowned.

"It's, uh . . . bad for her," Julia muttered lamely.

Vaughn looked even more irritated now. "Why?"

"It mixes badly with the drugs."

"She hasn't had any in the past week."

Julia looked at me desperately, clearly out of excuses to make on my behalf.

I shook my head and sat down my fork. "Just drop it, Vaughn. Please."

He stared at me for a long time, and I refused to look away. Beside me, Julia was frozen. I didn't even hear her breathing. Under his intense scrutiny, I fidgeted tablecloth. Nervousness coiled in my stomach, and I suddenly felt slightly nauseous.

He knew. I could just tell.

And all because I'd make a stupid error that should have been obvious.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and cold. "Chelsea, could we talk outside for a moment?"

"Vaughn, don't be ridicul" – He silenced Julia with an icy glare.

I inhaled sharply and looked away. There would be no reasoning with him if this went on for much longer – I knew his temper could sometimes get the best of him. Sighing, I grudgingly stood and followed him out the restaurant's door.

He leaned against a wall and stared at the cars coming and going. In the distance, a horn blared three times. A cold breeze blew through the street, and I shivered. A long silence passed. Finally, he turned his head and looked at me, eyes cautious.

"Something you want to talk to me about?"

It was a question, but it sounded much more like a demand. I mentally contemplated all the different ways this conversation could go. I hadn't wanted him to find out just yet. I searched my brain for a lie that would sound reasonable. I found none. So – just because it might work – I decided to play dumb.

"No. What's wrong?"

I stared at the cars like he did. I risked a glance toward him, and wished I hadn't. He was glowering at me.

"Chelsea, you know damn well what's wrong."

"I don't," I lied again.

He opened his mouth to yell – and then he shut it again. His face drained of all color as sudden realization dawned on him.

"This is what Louise meant," he muttered to himself, "when she said you needed to get better, and not _just for your sake._ Julia wouldn't tell me, either . . ."

I swallowed thickly. No, there was no getting out of this. Denying it any longer would only piss him off more that he already was. Which was a considerable amount.

"I didn't want to tell you yet," I whispered, hoping my voice wasn't lost in the noise of the street. His hand went to his forehead, and his eyes closed.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because there's so much else for us to worry about. There doesn't need to one more added to the pile. I was going to tell when things . . . settled down a bit." My voice sounded desperate, and I couldn't stop it.

"I can't believe you did this. No matter what was going on, you should have told me. I would have dealt with it. I'm mean, it's _good_ news, isn't?"

"Yes. I just . . ."

He stepped forward and gripped both my arms, not hard, but I couldn't exactly wriggle away, either.

"Chelsea, it has to stop." His eyes bored into mine, serious and solemn. "You keep _lying _to me. About Claire, about this, about _everything. _I . . . can't take it much longer."

I nodded, and I felt traitorous tears running down my cheeks.

"I know," I said, "I know. I'm not, I mean . . . I promise. No more lies. No matter what. I swear."

I managed to pull away from him and wipe away the tears. "I'm sorry. I love you, and I'm sorry."

I was sincere. I had never been more sincere in my life. I needed him to believe me. Never again would I hurt him with lies.

He stared down at me again for a minute, and then he sighed. His hands came up to cup my face.

"I know. It's okay. I'm sorry, too." He kissed my forehead.

The tears turned into a flat-out sob, and I hated it. I never used to cry so easily. I used to have more control over my own emotions.

"It's alright, we're okay," he murmured in my ear, "Everything's okay."

I was starting to get funny looks from the few people who were passing us on the sidewalk; I wiped at my face and pulled myself together.

Vaughn kissed my forehead again. "It's okay," he repeated.

I nodded, willing myself to believe it. He hesitated for a second, quietly deliberating. And then his hand came up to rest on my stomach.

"So. We're going to have a baby, huh?"

I snorted at his casual tone, but my voice was warm.

"Yeah. We are."

We agreed to let Julia go back to the Islands before we did; we still had to go back to the rented house and collect our things. She wanted to go home and see Elliot as soon as possible. I was eager, too, but I had a lot more things here than she did.

I promised to get Julia's few possessions and bring them to her. I would accompany Julia to the docks to make sure she got on there all right, and Vaughn would go back to the house and begin packing.

Our boat left an hour and a half after Julia's did. I was so excited to see Sunshine Islands. It felt like a lifetime had passed since I'd last seen in. And, in a way, it had been. I missed the people, my farm, my house, the Meadow . . . For just a moment, it seemed like everything would be fine. The worst was over.

And now we could go on.

**Vaughn **

I meant to hurry back to the house, but I was somehow sidetracked by the display in a small shop's window. A baby shop. The shock of realization in the restaurant still hadn't worn off, and my mind still hadn't fully grasped the news. It seemed like a strange, foggy dream. In what strange, alternate universe was I a _father? _

And I'd been angry at first; how could she have kept something like that from me? Obviously, I would have found out eventually. It wasn't like it was something you could easily hide. It hurt even more, knowing that she'd told Julia and not me.

Had Chelsea and I really drifted so far apart?

The thought was like tiny pinpricks of ice in my heart. Sighing, I shook my head and examined the tiny articles of clothing. How could there be a person small enough to fit in them? The idea of someone so tiny and fragile made me afraid, though I'd never admit it.

The whole idea was more than frightening; it was _terrifying. _But I was determined not to let Chelsea know I felt that way. Maybe I should feel guilty for that. But, considering how much she herself has been keeping things, my conscious wasn't exactly bothered.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and forced myself to continue down the sidewalk. I needed to stop thinking like that. I'd told her that everything was alright, and that I forgave her for all the lies. After all, she must have had her reasons.

But I was a grudge-holder by nature, and I could never let go of things easily, even for Chelsea. Still, I needed to try harder. Once we were finally back on Sunshine Islands, we could forget any of this had ever happened.

I walked slower than I should have on my way to the house; Chelsea was probably on her way back in a taxi by now. I hurried up the driveway and wrenched open the door.

From the moment I stepped inside, it felt like something was wrong.

Warily, my eyes darted around the living room. I saw nothing. Trying to convince myself it was nothing, I moved into the kitchen for a drink of water. By the time I was finished, I still couldn't shake off the feeling of eeriness crawling around me like a fog.

I looked out the little window above the sink and took a few deep breaths. And then I turned, ready to head upstairs and start packing our things. And, honest to God, time stopped. Because, suddenly, the reason for my cautiousness became clear.

Suddenly, I was staring into a pair of eyes that I had grown to despise.

Megan smiled lazily at me from the doorway, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Just seeing her brought on a white hot feeling of rage. Hundreds of violent thoughts whipped through my mind.

"Good afternoon, Vaughn. How are you doing?" Megan asked. Her voice was casual and polite, as if we were old friends.

I glared at her, and viciously spat, "Get out."

She snickered, and took a step toward me. She really needed to get out, and _now. _My fingers were twitching, and I eyed the long row of knives lined up next to the refrigerator.

"Why would I do that? We haven't spoken in so long." She glanced at the coffee machine, which was on and spurring. "Let's have some coffee and chat, shall we? I made some while you were gone."

I stalked forward until we were mere feet apart, glaring with murderous intent.

Megan frowned. "Don't try anything stupid, Vaughn. Really, it wouldn't be good for you, trust me. Not good for Chelsea, either."

I froze. "What about her?"

Megan shrugged and toyed with one of the buttons on her blouse. "I'm just saying, if we didn't talk like dignified people, it might have a negative effect on your wife. Is that what you what?"

I got in her face, gripped her arms as hard as I knew how and slammed her back against the wall.

"Where is she?" I hissed.

She glared at me, eyeing my hands with distaste. "You're upsetting me, Vaughn, which is also not good for you."

"Tell me where she is right now."

"I won't."

"I'll kill you if you don't." I meant it.

She shrugged, like that didn't matter. "If you do, then you'll never find her. And she'll die, just like me. Now, let go of me so we can speak, and then I'll see what I can do about getting her back to you safely."

I paused, deliberating. There was nothing in this world I wanted to do more than slit her throat with one of the kitchen knives. She might be lying about Chelsea. But what if she wasn't? I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled, and I pried my hands off her arms and stepped back.

Megan smiled. "Good," she crooned, like I was a dog that had just obeyed a command from its master.

She gestured to the table. "Sit, while I pour the coffee."

Glowering, I took a seat without taking my eyes off her.

"What the hell do you want to talk about?" I snarled.

Megan smiled a little, and poured coffee into two cups.

"How do you like it?" she asked, ignoring my question.

"Goddamn it, I don't _care._"

"I see."

She pulled two packets of sugar from her purse and poured them into each cup. Then she set a cup in front of me and moved to sit across from me at the table. She held the cup between both of her hands.

"So, tell me, Vaughn. Were you upset when your sister died?"

I gathered up a mouthful of spit and blood and literally spat in her face. She jerked backward in surprise, glaring at me as she wiped it away from her face.

"That," she hissed, "was a mistake. She'll pay for it later, I promise you."

"No, she won't. You will not touch her."

"Answer the question," Megan snapped.

"Yes," I sneered, "Of _course I was. _What do you know about her?"

She waved my words away. "She was murdered, right? By your stepfather?"

My face drained of all color. "How do you know about that?"

"That's not your concern. To tell her the truth, her death inconvenienced me." She winced, annoyed.

"Really? So _sorry _you were _inconvenienced._"

"He shouldn't have done it." Megan sighed. "He should have had better control. He wouldn't be where he is today if he could have held it together. He shouldn't have married her . . ."

"How did you know Jack? My mother? Marissa? _Me? _How is any of this connected to you?"

She shook her head. "You might have known, had you paid better attention when you were growing up. But, no, you were far too busy with all your new toys. Marissa, though . . . she wasn't like that. She was a stubborn little brat. And, in the end, it killed her."

Something inside of me snapped. My hand shot out across the table and wrapped around her throat. How _dare _she say that about my sister. Megan made a choking sound, and she clawed at my hand, which was squeezing.

"Chelsea," she reminded me, her voice distorted.

I hesitated. God, all I would have to do was squeeze a little harder . . . But no. _No. _I couldn't do that to Chelsea. The image of her, lying dead somewhere, was too much to bear. Life would cease to have meaning, and I'd surely follow in her footsteps soon after.

I wrenched my hand away from her and gripped the edge of the table. Megan started coughing and gasping for air, and I relished the sight.

When she finally regained her composure, she spat, "Another mark against you, Vaughn. You're not a very careful man. Perhaps that had something to do with her death as well."

I saw red, but I forced myself to remain still. Barely. Megan lifted her mug to her lips, and gestured for me to do the same. I swallowed two mouthfuls of the bitter stuff before shoving it away.

"I won't talk about Marissa," I growled, "She's dead."

"So she is," Megan murmured, "And so is Vivian."

"Yes. My mother is dead, too. So?"

"So. _That _pleases me." She smiled a little, but then her eyes darkened. "But he's dead, too. Or, he might as well be."

"Yeah." I grinned maliciously.

Her eyes narrowed. I leaned back in the chair, suddenly feeling very relaxed . . . which was strange. I shouldn't be relaxed.

"I know how stressful this little trip to the city must have been for the both of you," Megan said, her voice oddly quiet, "But, I can promise you that it will all be over shortly."

A short silence passed as we stared each other down. It occurred to me that I was almost sleepy now. In fact, my eyelids were starting to droop. Why . . . . ?

"Yes," Megan whispered, "Sleep, Vaughn. I have to go deal with your lovely wife. When you wake up, though, we'll finish this for good. And I can move on with my life."

I was fighting the sleepiness so hard. But I . . . couldn't . . . for much . . . longer . . . What was doing this? Realization suddenly dawned on me, and my eyes slid to the coffee.

Damn it.

She said that I'd wake up, though, so maybe it was only a sleeping drug. With the last of my energy, I leaned forward, and punched her dead in the face. Just because I could.

She fell out of the chair, and I saw through blurry vision that blood was gushing from her nose, and her eyes were watering. She glared at me, and I heard just one more thing before I passed out.

"He should have finished you, too."

**A/N: So. Hi! I've officially come out of my long hibernation, I swear it. Really. I fully intend on finishing what I started. No more insanely long breaks. **

**I meant to get this up a LONG time ago, but was I was having major issues with my FF account. Ugh! **


	11. Motivation

_11: Motivation_

"You promise to be back on the Islands as soon as possible, right?" Julia gripped the tops of my arms so tightly I was sure she was cutting off my circulation.

"Yes, I promise. I'm so sick of the city" – Understatement of the year – "and me and Vaughn will be on the next boat there."

She stared at me, her eyes searching my face for any sign of deception. She must have found none, because she exhaled in a long breath.

"I just . . . I don't want anything else to happen to either of you while I'm gone. Maybe I shouldn't leave. Elliot can wait a little longer."

"You shouldn't make him wait," I chastised, "He misses you. And, Julia, it's _two hours _until the next boat. I don't think anything too hideous will happen."

My voice was just as strong as I wanted it to be. The only way I kept myself from breaking down again was the assurances I was chanting in my mind: _Nothing will go wrong, nothing will go wrong . . . _

Julia hugged me tightly. "See you soon," she said in my ear.

Then she hurried to board her boat, waving at me from the deck. I waved back, an encouraging smile plastered on my face. I stayed on the dock until the boat was a good distance away, and then I made myself run back to the main roads to hail a cab.

Hopefully none of the drivers noticed the half-deranged look in my eyes. When I hurriedly got into a particularly bright yellow taxi, the cabbie drove way too slowly.

"Can you hurry up, please?" I asked, my voice strained.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, looking irritated. But the car picked up speed, and I leaned my head back against the headrest. Soon this nightmare would be over, and we could forget.

Well, not forget. But hopefully our brains will do that thing where you edit over bad memories until they're blurry and hard to recall vividly. When the cab stops outside the house, I throw some money at him and step out, barely registering his muttered profanities.

I jogged to the front door, yanked it open and walked inside. I raced up the stairs to see how far Vaughn had gotten with the packing. I stepped into our bedroom, expecting to find him with two fully stuffed suitcase and an expression that said, "Let's get the hell out of Dodge."

But no. All our things were scattered all over the room in the same way they had been the last time I was here. My book was still on the nightstand, my clothes still in the dresser drawers. His clothes and other necessities were all there, too.

I rushed to the closet and pulled the door open; both our suitcases were still inside, underneath the dress I'd bought when Vaughn and I went dancing. I swallowed against a large lump in my throat as my mind raced with possibilities.

Maybe he'd started with the kitchen or the living room? But that didn't make any sense. We did have a few things down there, but not enough to spend a bunch of time collecting all of it. Panic was rising up in my chest, and I felt my thin layer of sanity waver.

Something inside me was ready to snap, and I imagined sinking the floor and hugging my knees, rocking back in forth. I sucked in a sharp breath, furious with myself. I didn't used to be so freaking weak.

I mean, I wasn't as tough as Natalie or Denny or Gannon, but I wasn't a softie like Eliza or Lanna, either. I shouldn't be just sitting around, letting despair wrack my body in huge waves. I should be planning, calculating, thinking.

I should go back downstairs and find out what happened. I shuddered when I thought about what I might find, and my hands started to tremble. _No. _No, I was strong. I needed to be. Vaughn might need me.

I inhaled and exhaled through my nose, attempting to calm my racing heart. Then, with my resolve as strong as I was capable of making it, I turned and headed back downstairs.

When I reached the bottom, I stilled at listened. I wanted to call out for Vaughn, but something told me that if he was conscious he would be here already.

_Or alive, _a little voice whispered in the back of my mind. I banished it and forced myself to keep listening. All around me, it was unnaturally quiet. Even normal every day sounds seemed to have fled. I thought for a minute about going into the kitchen to get a knife. But, then again, I had no idea how to use one.

If I tried, would it merely be taken from me and used against me? Possibly. But I couldn't just stand here, defenseless. I felt weak and exposed. So, as quietly as possibly, I edged into the kitchen and grabbed a long, intimidating knife. I held it up, away from my body, probably looking idiotic.

I took another breath for courage and moved into the living area. This room, too, was empty. My eyes darted all around, seeking a hidden person. I looked under the sofa, behind the TV and in all the other places someone could hide.

But I found nothing. A light bulb went off above my head, and I moved to the closet door in the hall. My hand found the doorknob, and I clutched the knife so hard my knuckles turned white. I turned the handle.

But I never got the chance to open the door. A sudden rush of noise came from behind me, and I whirled. And, so quickly I couldn't even flinch, something big, black and round came down on my head.

Blackness surrounded me.

* * *

When I woke up, it was still totally black, and my limbs were at all sorts of weird angles. I was crammed into a small space, and my little box bounced up and down at regular intervals.

It didn't take me too long to deduce that I was in the back of a car – and I had a pretty strong guess of who the driver was. Megan. Surprisingly, instead of a deep sadness filling up, fury came instead. I wanted to scream. I wanted to kill her. I wanted her _dead_.

Nobody screws with me this much. In my fit of rage, I thrashed my limbs as much as I could in the limited space, pushing and punching against the walls of the car. I knew it was pointless, but the logical part of my brain hadn't kicked in yet.

I knew I should be more frightened about where she was taking me. But I could only muster up the relief that, some way or another, this would all be over soon. Whether it ended in my favor or not, it would still be over. And, just as the car ran over a large bump and my skull banged into something hard, I promised myself that – no matter what – I would _not _go down without a fight.

If I died today – and I had strong feelings that that's what she intended to do me – I wasn't going without inflicting some serious wounds first. My life was something worth fighting for. I was in love, and married.

I had a beautiful home, the best of friends, and a satisfying lifestyle. The idea of giving it all up made angry tears spring into my eyes. No. I _deserved _all those things, and damn it, I was going to have them. I took another deep, calming breath and relaxed as the car sped along the too-bumpy road.

I needed a plan of some sort. I needed to be smarter than my enemy. If only she hadn't proven to be so devilishly intelligent already. I closed my eyes and thought, long and hard.

A rough plan formed in my mind, but it had as many holes as swiss cheese.

It would be very helpful if I knew where she was taking me, but it wasn't like I could magically appear beside her and ask.

The car jerked sharply to the left, and my face mashed into something soft; a sweater, perhaps. I groped blindly around in the dark, searching for anything I might be able to use as a weapon.

But, the last time I checked, articles of clothing and something that felt suspiciously like a few candy wrappers weren't all that lethal. I let out a small groan of frustration, resigning myself to the fact that I would have to do this bare-handed.

My mind froze cold at that thought. Do _what _bare-handed? What exactly was I planning to do with this crazy woman if I somehow managed to turn the tables, and gained the advantage? Hurt her? Blackmail her?

_Kill _her?

I inhaled sharply and shook my head. If I could, I would avoid killing at all costs. It wasn't high up on my I-really-want-to-do-this list. Somehow, I would keep her alive . . . Even if I didn't really want to. Still, no matter how deranged this person was, killing seemed a bit extreme.

Could I even really do it?

I contemplated this question for much longer than I should have, to distract myself from the sharp turns and jerks of the car that shoved my already-sore body into all sorts of uncomfortable positions.

I bit my lip, and a small tear ran down my cheek, invisible in the darkness. Yes, I _would _do it, if I absolutely had to. Self-preservation is an instinct that surpasses all others. If it was either her or me, I would pick me.

The idea of forever having another person's blood on my hands was a sick thought. I again promised that I would try and avoid it. I _would avoid it. _I desperately tried to ignore the little, nagging voice in my mind that was full of doubt, telling me that I probably couldn't. Megan wasn't going to give up until she was dead, or we were.

I shoved half of my fist in my mouth and bit down on it to muffle my small scream. This was an impossible situation, one that I didn't deserve to be in. I dwelled on that for a while, and then became angry with myself for my self-pity.

It wouldn't help me at all here, so thinking about it was absolutely pointless. And Vaughn . . . Where was he? He was supposed to go back to the house to pack, but he obviously wasn't there when I went in. Only Megan was there, waiting like a coiled viper, to ambush me. What had she done with him?

Did she kill him, and then come back to my house to finish the job? Or was he hurt and unconscious somewhere, maybe tied to a chair, waiting for Megan to return to announce that I was dead?

The latter seemed like the most likely option, because Megan was sadistic enough to enjoy how much pain that would cause him.

But that didn't mean he couldn't be dead. Maybe Megan had grown tired of playing games with us and just wanted to be done with it; maybe she had other people whose lives she needed to toy with and ruin.

A sob wracked my body, and I curled into a ball as best I could in the very limited space. If Vaughn really was dead, then what would the point be in fighting what Megan so desperately wanted? Without him, I didn't feel like I had any reason to live.

But maybe that's what Megan hopes I will reason. The fact that I haven't a clue what's running through her mind or what her sick plans are frustrated me beyond all reason.

My resolve solidified within me, and I came to these conclusions: One, if Vaughn was dead, then I had every reason for needed revenge on Megan, and wouldn't feel badly about her death at all.

If he wasn't, I needed to get out of this situation and find him before it was too late. Both of these required me to stay strong and not give up. I had to believe that Vaughn was alive, or I might fall apart.

I shut my eyes and formed an image of his face in my mind, in one of his rare wide smiles. It helped calm my racing heart and allow me to think logically and rationally.

_I am going to get out. I am not going to die today. _

Swallowing against the large lump in my throat, I let my body totally relax and my eyes close. Megan had tormented us, played games with us, said cryptic things without giving away her real reasoning for doing this, and had screwed with our minds to the point we might never be the same again.

She was going to pay for it. For a long time, I concentrated on breathing slowly in and out, in and out. That small task took a lot of effort; my heart was still racing too quickly in my chest. When Megan stopped the car and opened the truck, I wanted to appear as relaxed as possible.

If she thought that I was still unconscious, then maybe she wouldn't expect me to leap up and attack. I prayed that she didn't have some sort of weapon on her. She might, and she might not. It was a risk that I was forced to take.

The only advantage I currently possessed with this plan was the element of surprise, and I intended to play that card at just the right time. I had no experience with fighting at all. I could only hope that the rage and anger that bubbled hotly inside me would be enough motivation to inflict some real damage.

I wasn't sure if Megan could fight, but her perfectly manicured hair and long red nails suggested she didn't. Still, I had been wrong before. Like when I thought that the woman I met in a department store was just a friendly person looking for a friend in the city.

I would never be so naïve again. Living on the Islands for so long had made me trust people too much. There, I never doubted their loyalty, their love and devotion. I had forgotten that in the city, my little bubble of paradise had been breached and things were not the same at all.

If Vaughn and I got out of this alive, we were going back to Sunshine Islands and living like goddamned Mr. and Mrs. Sunshine for the rest of our lives. We deserved it. I wanted to see him so badly, wanted to touch him and hold him, but I suppressed the desire and focused on the task at hand.

The car began to slow; my body tensed, and I had to remind myself to relax again. When it rolled to a complete stop, a chill ran down my spine, and I bit the inside of my cheek so hard it bled. I had to believe that I could do this.

I _had _to.

I strained my ears for sounds, and heard the sound of a car door slamming, and soft footsteps coming towards the back. My eyes closed and the trunk popped open. And I felt a figure hovering over me, a pair of piercing icy eyes staring dispassionate down at my limp body. I gathered up all my courage, and a little voice in my head whispered:

_Here we go. _

**A/N: Really short chapter, I know. Usually they're a lot longer. Story wraps up fairly soon - 3 or 4 chapters left. After I finish this, I'm going to complete Bewitched, and then Before and After. And then I have a few other ideas in mind, mostly V/C. **


	12. Survival

_12: Survival _

The sudden light that shone into the trunk hurt my eyes, even though they were closed. I focused on keeping my breathing even and my body limp. She wouldn't believe I was still unconscious if I was tense. But it was the hardest thing to do in the world. Somewhere very close by, I heard the sound of rushing water. Were we near a river?

For a moment, nothing happened. I just continued to feel the intensity of her gaze on me. I could only imagine what kind of thoughts were flitting through her mind; it made me feel nauseous. Suddenly she reached down, and I felt her hands roughly grip my ribcage.

Those sharp red nails dug into my flesh, but I forced myself not to react. I was deadweight as she grunted and heaved my body from the trunk of the car. When I was halfway out, she dropped me altogether and I tumbled onto the hard ground.

How I managed to remained silent was a small miracle.

My cheek was pressed against soft dirt. The sound of rushing water was unmistakably close. Had she brought me to some kind of forest? I didn't even know there were any around the city. How long had we been driving? Quite a long time, apparently.

My joints were screaming and aching from being twisted up in that position for so long, and my head was suddenly pounding. I had landed on my stomach with my face turned toward the right.

My eyes were still closed, and I waited for her to try and move me again. Was she planning to drown me in the lake? I risked peeking through my eyelids at her, hating that it was difficult to focus in the bright light.

Megan was standing over me, leaning against the car and staring off into the distance with an odd expression. Pained, perhaps grieved. I glanced around – we were surrounded by impossibly tall trees, and when I breathed in the air was remarkably clean and fresh.

And I was right – a river _was_ very close by.

The water was rushing quickly and powerfully toward the west – I imagined that if you found yourself in it, you would have no choice but to let the current take you. I shuddered, hoping my body didn't tremble too much. She'd brought me out to the middle of nowhere to do away with me.

No witnesses.

Fear stabbed deep in my heart, but I forced myself to remain focused. When would be the best time to leap up and surprise her? My body ached fiercely, as if to remind me that leaping was the last thing it wanted to do.

But knowing that death was possibly near gave me an adrenaline rush, and I was confident that I could – and would – ignore any ailments that plagued me at the moment. Megan suddenly sighed, and cast a look of disgust at my body.

She was clutching a big black purse in one hand, and she slowly unzipped it. She brought out what I quickly realized was a knife, its blade wrapped in some sort of black sleeve. The purse she dropped to the ground and kicked aside.

She bit down on its handle and got a good grip on my ribcage again. I allowed her to drag me closer to the river, until we were mere feet away. The sound of the rushing water was unbelievably loud now – it drowned out all other noise.

Megan was panting, apparently exhausted with the work of dragging me along. She inhaled sharply, dropped the knife into her right hand, muttered something I didn't hear under her breath and got down on her knees next to me.

It was definitely time to act.

I wasn't going to lay around and wait to be stabbed, slashed or cut. Her plan was obvious by now; she was going to slit my throat and dump me in the river. The current would take my body who knows where, and nobody would find out about my death for a long time. And even if they did, how would they trace it back to Megan?

She had no connections to me whatsoever, and I'd never told anybody other than Vaughn about her to begin with. Something told me that she'd be very careful in covering her tracks, and I knew without a doubt that she would get away with it.

As if I needed any other incentive to stay alive. Just as she was sliding the sleeve off the blade – which was long and menacingly sharp – I acted. My eyes flew open, and I landed a kick to the side of her skull.

She let out a strangled sound and fell to the side; the knife flew from her hands and landed with a hard _thud _against the side of one of the towering trees.

"Why, you little" – Megan spluttered, one hand holding the side of her head.

Her lipstick was smeared across her face now; it looked like blood. I skittered like a bug towards the knife at the base of the trunk; my hands closed over the handle, and then I forced myself to stand; I staggered a little.

My hands were shaking as I held up the weapon, pointing at her with the tip.

"Don't come near me." I willed my voice to be strong and firm.

Megan rubbed the side of her head, and slowly got to her feet. Her cold, icy eyes never strayed from mine.

"What do you intend to do with that?" She asked, jutting her chin out to gesture at the knife.

My hands refused to stop trembling. "Kill you, if I have to."

"You won't. You're weak, just like he is."

Fury flashed through me. "We are not _weak! _We're _humane. _You're cruel and malicious, stalking and hurting innocent people for no reason at all."

She laughed, loudly. It confirmed my suspicion that not a soul was within a few miles of here.

"_Innocent? _You think the both of you are _innocent?_" She spat the word like a curse at me.

"We are," I insisted, my voice cracking.

Megan shook her head me slowly. Bitterness crept into her voice. "You're not."

"Why?" I couldn't help whispering the question, a question I had wanted to know the answer to for so long.

"Why have you been _doing _this to us? We haven't done anything to you!"

She gritted her teeth. "_You _haven't, not really. Vaughn was my priority, in this little game of cat and mouse we've been playing. You were just a bonus."

I felt like stabbing her right then and there. But I needed to know this, and for that, she had to keep talking.

"Why?" I asked again, "Tell me why."

She blinked at me, her mouth set in a hard line. "This game has been going on for far too long. I wanted to toy with you both for a bit, to scare you, but now I see I was being too dramatic. I should have been quicker about killing you both."

She sounded deeply disappointed at her own mistake.

"Tell me _why!_" I screamed at her.

Anger flashed across Megan's face, and then pain. She muttered one word so low, I could barely hear it. But when I did, my heart skipped a beat.

"Jack."

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. "What does _he _have to do with _any _of this?"

She reached toward me with those long red nails, like she wanted to strangle me for my harsh words. I held the knife close, keeping her at bay.

"I assume Vaughn has told you his sob-story of the past? About Marissa?" She snarled the name at me.

"Yes. So?"

Megan inhaled sharply, her blue eyes flashing with contempt. "I met Jack after he'd already started dating Vivian – Vaughn and Marissa's mother. He was attending the same play at a theater in the city. I thought he was the most charming, attractive man on the planet. I wanted to go on a date, but he said that he couldn't – he was engaged."

She rolled her eyes like this was a moot point. "I managed to persuade him to take my phone number anyway, in case he changed his mind. A few weeks passed, and I assumed he'd forgotten about me. But he called me up one day and said he wanted to meet – he'd been arguing with Vivian about her bratty kids. When we met, I offered him solace and comfort he would never receive from her."

"We got along marvelously, and we began secretly seeing each other on a regular basis. I told Jack I wanted him to leave her – she wasn't good enough for him, anyway. But he went ahead and married her anyway, despite my wishes. He kept on seeing me, though, and I kept agreeing to meet with him, hoping I could change his mind about his crazy wife." She sighed, seemingly frustrated.

"But he never did. It broke my heart, but I couldn't stop seeing him. I loved him too much, and he loved me, too. Just not enough to leave her. It infuriated me, especially when I saw how unhappy he was. He was always arguing with Vivian about something, mostly the younger child."

She was disobedient and rebellious all the time. I told him that he needed to enforce discipline, and eventually he did. The older child" – Megan flashed me a hateful look – "was constantly getting in the way of things. Both of Vivian's kids drove him mad. And then there came that fateful day when it was too much, and he ended up killing her. And he's been in prison ever since."

Tears came into her eyes and dripped down her cheeks.

"I loved him," she whispered, "And now he's locked up because of _her, _because she never listened. Because of Vaughn, too, because you can bet he did his share of aggravating Jack. They pushed him and pushed him until it was just too much for him to bear."

She was sobbing now, and I watched in disbelief. "If only he had left her, if only he had seen reason! We would be together, like we rightfully should be. And _you,_" she snarled through her teeth.

"It _absolutely infuriated _me when I saw the both of you in the city. I didn't plan it, it happened by chance. But I recognized Vaughn instantly – he's not difficult to place. And you were with him, and the both of you were going on your merry way – on your _honeymoon, _no less. Why should you get to be happy and with the one you love when I can't? Why should he? _He doesn't deserve it._"

I blinked, trying to absorb all this new information. Megan was in love with Jack. She wanted revenge, because she had somehow deluded herself into believing that Vivian's kids were to blame for his imprisonment. It angered her that I was happy and in love with him. All this time . . . it was all because of Jack.

Again.

I didn't know it was possible to have another human being as much as I hated him in this moment.

"You're wrong," I said, "Jack didn't love you, not if he wouldn't leave Vivian. You were probably just a toy he kept around to use at his convenience, when he wasn't getting enough of what he wanted from her. And he was locked up because he murdered Marissa – who never did anything wrong in the first place. _And neither did Vaughn. _It's you who is demented here, _you and Jack _are the ones who are nuts!"

I glared at her, and she glared right back.

"Vivian didn't deserve the life she got. She should have found herself a real man," I spat at her, my blood boiling with rage.

Megan shuddered violently. "She deserved it for keeping him away from me. He loved me more than her; Jack stayed with her because he pitied her."

"Pitied?" I asked in disbelief. This woman was seriously crazy. A real and true psychopath.

"She was dirt poor, and she had two rotten kids to look after."

"And killing one of them was the perfect solution to that issue."

"It was Marissa's fault for pushing him too far," Megan insisted, "And I made sure Vivian knew that when I paid her a visit not too long ago."

My jaw dropped; my palms were slick with sweat, and keeping my grip on the knife was difficult.

"What – what do you mean?" I stammered, fearing her reply.

She smiled wickedly at me. "I want revenge. I intended to get rid of her _and _Vaughn. It's true, I found him in the city by coincidence, but I would have found him eventually."

"You . . . _You killed his mother!_" I jabbed the knife at her accusingly; she flinched, but otherwise ignored it.

"It took months of careful planning. I couldn't be caught, not when I wasn't done with them. Getting into that asylum was hard. But, yes."

It felt like my inside were shriveling up and falling apart. I wanted to drop to the ground and vomit the contents of my stomach. Megan murdered Vivian, and Vaughn didn't even know it. Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them escape.

Something inside me had snapped, and it felt like I was capable of anything. Memories came rushing back; I went to the Animal Shop to see Vaughn, only to find him, Julia and Mirabelle in a state of despair.

He'd told me that the thing between us was over, and spouted some nonsense about how he wasn't allowed to be happy. That was the real first time Megan had almost torn us apart. She had been with us, every step of the way, even then.

"You're wrong," I whispered, even though I knew my words would be lost on her. "We deserve to be happy, and you don't deserve to live." I waved the knife around in the air.

A sudden look of smugness came over Megan's face, and I wanted to slice it off.

"Even if you did, it wouldn't matter now."

"Why?" My voice came out all weird and high. "Where is he? Where's Vaughn?"

She stared at me with those hard eyes. "He's dead."

If I had felt crazy before, it was nothing compared to what possessed me at that moment. A shriek of rage passed through my lips, and suddenly I was racing toward her. I tackled her to the ground, mere feet from the back of the river. The sound of the rushing river filled my ears, along with my fast-beating heart.

Megan let out a cry, and her hand close around my wrist, keeping the knife away from her face and body. I wasn't trying to stab her, not yet. She kicked and wiggled under me, and her thumb found a spot on my wrist that caused undeniably excruciating pain to race up my arm.

A pressure point?

Regardless of what it was, I screamed and had to drop the knife. It skidded away from us, landing close to the edge of the river. And then suddenly were rolling around on the ground, each of us grabbing, kicking, punching and biting.

When I finally managed to kick her off me, I rolled onto my stomach and crawled toward the knife. She grabbed my ankle from behind, trying to stop me, but I yanked it free and my heel connected with her face.

But just as I managed to grab the handle, she was on me again, and we wrestled for control of the blade. The droplets of water that clung to the handle made it slippery, and we ended up dropping it again – further out this time.

Megan let out a frustrated growl – blood was coming from both her nostrils, and I could feel my body hurting all over from where she'd punched. Her rings left cuts on my face and arms.

Knowing she would attack me again, I tried to gauge how far out the knife was – I could see it the blade, shining dimly under the water, nestled in a pocket of sand. I had a mere second to decide whether or not it was worth risking the raging river.

Further out, there was probably a waterfall with lethally sharp rocks at the bottom. She landed a kick into my shin, which made me collapse. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and tried to hold my head under the water.

I thrashed and twisted, bringing her down with me – luckily she wasn't much stronger than I was. In the process, however, I managed to inhale a breath of water, and then I was coughing.

She was, too, but still tried again to shove me back under. I let her this time, forcing my eyes open underneath. I twisted out of her grasp again dove for the knife, my fist closing around the handle.

Megan came after me again, and the impact of her running into me sent us both stumbling back – and off an abrupt drop off where the wet sand-floor ended. I lashed out with the knife as the both of us were carried out into the river, but the water pushed up apart too quickly.

Waves of fast-moving water were closing over my head over and over, and I struggled just to stay above the surface. I let go of the knife, realizing that it wouldn't help me now. The waves tossed me around like a rag doll, and the sheer icy temperature of it froze me to the core.

Nearby, Megan was struggling the same way I was, and I could hear her cries. A few escaped my lips, too, every time I tried to breath and was met with no air. My lungs began to burn and I desperately looked around for escape.

Something hard slammed into me, and I gasped. Stupid rocks. For a moment I considered just letting the river do whatever it wanted with me – if Megan was to be believed, what was there to live for, really?

Except Megan is not to be believed.

What if she was lying about Vaughn for this very purpose? I wasn't going to let her win. My heart pulsing with new-found adrenaline, I kicked my arms and legs harder, determined to stay above the surface.

I scanned the edge of the forest, looking for anything I could grab onto and pull myself out with. It must have been my lucky day, because several yards down a few long tendrils of wood, root or something else dipped into the water.

Sucking in a huge breath before the most recent wave shoved me under again; I focused all my energy into the simple act of swimming closer. I reached out with desperate hands as I drew closer; I knew I wouldn't get another chance like this again.

If I didn't make this, I might as well pray for a quick death at the base of a waterfall. I lost my grip on the first one, but managed to get hold of the second. I could now see that they were in fact roots, attached to a bush that had grown lopsidedly, too close to the river.

I pulled myself closer towards land, ignoring a wave that crashed over my head, threatening to yank me back. My arm shot out and I found a hold on the side of large, bumpy boulder a few feet from the bush.

Pulling my body up and onto land was the hardest thing I'd ever done. My body felt like it had been beaten up, run over, shot and a thousand other awful things. My cheek pressed against dirt, and I promised myself never to take land for granted again.

After several minutes of catching my breath, I forced myself to sit up and stare at the river. I scanned the surface of it repeatedly, searching. But there was no sign of Megan anywhere. Did I dare assume that she hadn't been as lucky as me, and was now dead?

I exhaled in a sharp breath. Yes. Yes, I would assume that. Considering anything else would be painful. I tried to shake off the shock of all that had happened, and tried to stand on shaky legs.

The river had carried me too far, but I was sure I could find the clearing where Megan's car was parked. I needed to find it before it got dark and somehow find the city again. I also needed to get out of my wet clothes – already I was shivering violently.

But it would be colder after dark, so I really needed to get going. Walking was excruciating, especially with the lack of adrenaline in my veins. I did in fact find the car, after locating a dirt trail – and Megan's purse, dropped next to the back right wheel.

I dug out the keys and got inside. Then I remembered that there had been something scratchy in the truck with me, so I hurriedly got out and opened the truck. Sure enough, it was a sweater. It was an ugly shade of green – I wondered why on Earth Megan would have it.

Shaking my head, I shed my wet shirt and pulled it on. It was itchy, but it would definitely do. I stumbled back into the car, putting the heat on full blast, and found a main road that would eventually lead to some signs.

I inhaled and exhaled deeply, reminding myself to slow down every so often. What would I find when I returned to the city? It could either be a joyous reunion or heartbreaking news. I hoped with everything I had that it was the former. Tears welled up in my eyes as I focused on my pounding heart.

I was alive.

**A/N: And so am I! :) **

**Just the epilogue to go now. **


End file.
